


Running Up That Hill

by maypoison



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All-Knowing Deaton, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Canon Compliant, Danny Mahealani Finds Out, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, First Time, Good Peter Hale, Hale-McCall Pack, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapping, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Non-Human Jordan Parrish, Not Beta Read, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Pre-Season/Series 03, Scott is a Bad Friend, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski's Name, The Hale House
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 136,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maypoison/pseuds/maypoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Even before the pack joined together, Scott was trying to protect you. And he still is trying to protect you, even if it means leaving you out of all this.”</p><p>Stiles does roll his eyes at that. “Yeah, but it didn’t work did it. I was still involved, and so was my Dad. We were nearly killed by Matt, and then Gerard.”</p><p>“My point is, people change. Relationships aren’t always perfect. Scott's tried to kill me before." </p><p>Stiles raises an eyebrow. "So, you’re saying that someone trying to kill you is just a small flaw in a relationship?"</p><p>“We’re werewolves.” Derek answers with a shrug, as if that was a perfectly good explanation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Friday 1st April**

“I’m home!”

Stiles is greeted with an eerie silence as he enters his house after school. With just a quick look around the lobby, he can tell that his father has been called to work; even though he was supposed to be having the day off. They had even planned to eat dinner together tonight; something that they hadn't done in a long time, due to his father’s hectic schedule, and Stiles’ huge amount of schoolwork. Well, at least, that’s the reason he told his father as to why he was always so busy.

He didn't think 'researching myths and monsters' would count as schoolwork. 

Stiles sighs as he shuts the front door. By the looks of it, the Sheriff wouldn't be home any time soon. His father's Sheriff jacket was gone, as were his large black boots that were usually stored by the front door. He’d obviously left in a hurry, and that meant only one thing; local emergency. Stiles would usually be interested as to find out what the emergency was, but today he was too tired to think of anything other than food and sleep.

As the young man walks further into the house, he suddenly spots a small Post-It note stuck to one of the side tables near the front door. Stiles leans down to read his fathers scribbled message.

_'Called to work. Food in fridge. See you tonight.'_

So, it would be just him for dinner again. He couldn’t remember the last time he and his father had spent the evening together, much less eaten together.

He missed it. 

With another deep sigh, Stiles dumps his bag by the front door, and ventures into the kitchen for some much needed sustenance. It had been a long day at school, and he was starving. Although, there was a silver lining. Stiles now had an entire week off school for Spring Break. He wasn't doing anything in particular, but that was the whole point. This week, he didn't have to _do_ anything. He was completely free. 

Strangely, Stiles realises that he's not as excited about Spring Break than he thought he would be when he had started the school year. He had always looked forward to this holiday, but this year, he wasn’t really feeling it.

Spring Break was always a big deal for high school students, and Beacon Hills was no exception. Most people headed away on vacation, or used the break to hang with friends and be a useless and unproductive member of society. (Stiles usually preferred doing the latter.) However, being at school meant he was guaranteed to see everyone. Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Lydia, Jackson, and even the love-birds Scott and Allison.  Without school forcing everyone to hang out with him, Stiles felt like he wouldn’t be seeing any of his friends for a while.

One time at lunch, Stiles had approached the usual lunch table, only to find that there wasn’t a single space left for him to sit. Scott hadn’t noticed, being too busy staring at his girlfriend with a gooey eyed expression. Allison had been telling him some sort of story that had him giggling, and Stiles swore he had seen actual hearts in his friends eyes.

Bleurgh.

Stiles wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Jackson, Boyd, Isaac and even Erica only really put up with him because he was supposed to be part of the pack, and was Scott’s best friend. Stiles also thought that to Lydia he would never really be able to be anything more than the boy who had been madly in love with her for years, despite the fact that he had saved her life; multiple times. He knew that the pack didn’t really like him all that much, but that still didn’t make it hurt less when Jackson gave him a cold look, Lydia ignored him in favour of messing around with her bottle of water, and Scott didn’t even bother to turn around and look at him.

He had stood awkwardly for a few minutes, just waiting and possibly hoping that they would snap out of their own thoughts and remember that Stiles was there. He barely noticed Danny was beside him until he had nudged his shoulder and then indicated towards an empty table amongst the busy cafeteria. The two ate in peaceful silence, but Stiles could not helping looking over his shoulder, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of his friend; maybe even hear fractions of their conversation. 

It was mostly about werewolf related things, and if Stiles were there, he would have warned them to keep their voices down. After all, if he could hear them, everyone else in the cafeteria probably could as well. He was sure none of them would have had a good excuse as to why they were talking about werewolves and other mythological monsters so loudly in the cafeteria. It wasn't exactly a subject on the school's curriculum.

Stiles wishes he had been included though, even just a little bit.

That was just one lunch, but since then, Stiles had noticed that he was being ignored more and more by Scott's pack, and most days he automatically went to sit with Danny and some other guys from the Lacrosse team rather than with his supposed friends. He knew it was all probably just because he was just a human, and not even one who could hold their own like Allison.

The most popular people in school were supernatural creatures, and that was just weird. Jackson was a werewolf (although, he had been a Kanima. Long story) and Lydia was a Banshee. Allison, even human, was a Hunter who could probably take down anything as long as she had her bow or some sort of bad ass weapon. Stiles thought even barehanded she could pretty much take anything or anyone, whilst he could barely play Lacrosse without getting knocked out. It was an accident of course, and Isaac had apologised about fifty times in a row whilst Scott had hovered over him worriedly. Still, Stiles was reminded then how powerful his friends were, and just how human and breakable he was. It was an unwelcomed revelation.

Then there were the other werewolves. Scott was a true Alpha, and so shared the pack with the other Alpha, broody Derek Hale. Boyd, Erica and Isaac were the Beta's, with super strength, super speed, insanely good hearing, and the ability to heal like it was nobody’s business.

Stiles on the other hand, had been given a black eye during Lacrosse practice three weeks ago, and in the right light you could still make out the yellow bruising that hadn’t quite faded yet.

Sometimes, he felt slightly useless.

Today at lunch, Stiles had been about get up and leave his table to go and talk to Scott at the nearby table, when Danny had suddenly asked Stiles about his dad. Stiles had managed a small smile, before telling him his dad was fine, and then asking Danny about Lacrosse. Danny had looked thrilled, before giving Stiles a complete play-by-play of his tactics to make it onto the first line in the team this year. Sometimes Stiles forgets, Danny’s best friend was on the other table as well, and so, he didn't go to talk to Scott.

Now it was after school, and after finding a perfect snack of cold pizza and Doritos, Stiles locks himself in his room, puts Star Wars (the originals, of course) on his TV in the background, and sits at his desk to make a start on his biology homework.

Of course, within five minutes, Stiles had spun his desk chair around to face the television, and away from his desk overflowing with notes and work that was due as soon as he got back to school after Spring Break. He usually tried to get the work done as soon as possible, giving the rest of the holiday week free to do whatever he wanted, which was usually to hang out with Scott. This time though, he had the feeling that he would have plenty of spare time to do his homework.

Just as Luke Skywalker does some sort of weird somersault into the air, and takes off a droids head, Stiles hears his dad calling his name, and quickly spins his chair around to face his desk, attempting to look extremely busy and 'student like'. Of course, this was Stiles Stilinski, so the bowl of Dorito’s that he had placed precariously on his desk clatters to the floor, and his spinny chair, which was uselessly not spinny, tilts and sends the young man crashing to the floor.

When the Sheriff opens the bedroom door, he doesn’t even seem fazed by the sight Stiles being sprawled out on the floor covered in chips. In anything, he looks like he hadn’t expected to find anything less.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah Dad?” Stiles replies, his face still buried in the carpet. Not hearing a response to his question, he sighs, and turns his head to the doorway. “Hi Dad”

The Sheriff opens his mouth, apparently about to ask a question, when he notices that Stiles was making absolutely no move to get off the floor, or clean himself off. He crosses his arms over his chest, and gazes down at his dishevelled son. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Stiles mumbles, before spitting out a large piece of chip that had somehow managed to fall into his mouth. It didn't even taste like a Dorito ...

His father though, just nods, before tilting his head to meet his son's eyes. “Ok, well I’m heading back to the station, I just dropped in to pick up a few things.”

“Yeah, station … ok cool.”

Stiles hears his dad turn away from him, and place a hand on his bedroom door to close it, but before he walks away, the Sheriff suddenly turns back to face the heap of limbs and pile of crumbs on the floor.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Stiles sighs again, before grunting as he stands up. He nods, and starts brushing off some bright orange chips from his t-shirt; his favourite Star Wars t-shirt. “I’m fine Dad.”

The Sheriff nods, and gives Stiles a look that he knows is clearly the ‘I know you’re not ok, but I’m respecting your teenage need to angst alone’ look. He was a good dad.

“Ok, see you tomorrow for breakfast?”

Stiles hears the slight question, and smiles, trying to mollify his clearly concerned father. “Sure thing. Have a good shift.”

The Sheriff smiles once, before closing the door to Stiles’ bedroom, and heading downstairs.

Stiles turns back to his desk and tipped over chair, and nearly cries when he sees the chaos that his clumsiness had caused. He pauses the film that was still playing in the background, before begrudgingly leaving his room to try and find the vacuum cleaner. He was sure Scott and the others were probably fighting some sort of demon army or doing something equally cool right now, and here he was, vacuuming up chips.

Stiles manages to finish his biology work somewhere around 2am, and is honesty surprised that he didn’t fall asleep at his desk before then. Usually, he would just take notes, doodle, and procrastinate on his computer until his head hit the desk (literally, and usually 'ow') and he fell asleep.

This time though, he had actually finished his work, and yet he was wide awake. Stiles remembers then, that he doesn’t actually have school tomorrow, or the next day, or the next …

Stiles pushes some paper from his desk, and begins to dig around under the chaos to try and find his phone. Scott would probably still be up, and at least they could talk for a few hours about Spring Break, and arrange to meet up. That's what they had always done after the last day of school after all.

Stiles clicks Scott's name, and waits as the phone rings.

“Hey, you’ve reached Scott. Leave a mess-“

Stiles clicks off, and angrily tosses his phone over his shoulder. He amazingly manages to get it to land on his double bed, instead of it falling and hitting the hard bedroom floor. Huh, maybe his luck was turning around.

Or maybe not, Stiles thinks, realising he had absolutely nothing else to do, and no one else to talk to. Stiles sighs, and begins to spin around on his chair, _carefully_. He didn't want to cause any more chaos in his now clean room.

He wanted, no he _needed_ to do something.

Suddenly Stiles spots his clean Lacrosse trainers and shorts in the corner of his room by his wardrobe, and it only takes him about two seconds to decide a late night jog in the woods was the perfect remedy to his sudden insomnia. He quickly gets up  from his desk chair and gets changed, not bothering to leave a note for his dad. He was sure he would be back before him, and had his phone if he needed to call. Stiles stops before leaving his room to grab his torch and IPod, before he leaves the house.

It was only a five minute walk from Stiles' house to the edge of the woods, and jogging, it only takes him a few minutes to get there.

The woods were very creepy at night, and Stiles almost wishes he had the urge to have a Xbox Live Halo marathon with some still wide awake Europeans, instead of suddenly wanting to go sprinting around in the dark and dodging tree roots. He was silently betting with himself when he would fall over, and was impressed that he was still on two feet, when he skids to a halt.

He recognises this place, but was convinced that he must just be mistaken. This couldn't be ...

The Hale house? How far had Stiles come!?

Stiles turns, and looks back into the woods, taking off his headphones for a moment and pausing his music. He had run from his house to the Hale house, and that must have been at least an hour straight of running without taking a break. He had never done that in his life. That was really weird …

He turns to look back towards the house, almost expecting it to have disappeared like it was some sort of mirage or hallucination. No such luck though, it was still there.

The house was huge, and eerie, but it looked cool in the dark. One of the times Stiles had been here, it had been surrounded by police cars, and Derek Hale, its owner and only resident, was being bundled into his dad’s police car. That, was a very long story ...

The house though, he never really had paid much attention to. Stiles could imagine what it had looked like before the fire. It would have been huge, and kinda creepy looking. Like a haunted mansion in the middle of the woods. It would have been awesome …

“Stiles?”

The voice isn’t angry, or annoyed, or even unfamiliar, but Stiles still jumps so high he ends up falling over straight afterwards, and screams so loud he swears the local owl population would be personally offended by his imitation of a shrill squawk.

“Derek, hey. Hey Derek.” Stiles mumbles, attempting, and then succeeding to clamber onto his feet.

Derek doesn’t move forward from where he was stood behind Stiles, or even offer him a hand up, but of course he doesn’t. This was grumpy Sourwolf.

“What the hell are you doing here Stiles?” Derek growls, beginning to walk closer to the young man.

Stiles can’t help the way his eyes bulge at the werewolf’s no-nonsense tone of voice. He takes a cautious step backwards. After all, Derek Hale was still a very powerful (and now annoyed) Alpha, even if he wasn’t _his_ Alpha.

“Wow, way to sound welcoming …” Stiles mumbles, nerves making the words fall from his mouth before he has the chance to process them.

“You’re in my territory.” Derek grumbles in response, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Stiles nods jerkily, before gulping. “Yeah, and I’m kinda regretting that right now …”

“You’re not part of the pack, you shouldn't be here.” The Sourwolf interrupts, cutting Stiles off before he can even try to explain how he found himself outside the burnt frame of Derek’s childhood home.

And that, _that_ hits Stiles harder than when he was accidently knocked out by Isaac with a Lacrosse stick …

“I know.” Stiles defends, shifting on his feet awkwardly. “I was just …”

“What?” Derek snaps. Shit, now Derek was getting angry, and angry Alpha was not good.

“Running.”

To his credit, Derek doesn’t laugh, he just rolls his eyes.

“Go home Stiles. It’s not safe out here.” The man replies, before walking around Stiles, and heading towards the huge, empty Hale house.

“What, big bad Alpha like you scared of the dark?” Stiles jokes, and immediately regrets it when Derek stops.

He gulps, but the Alpha just turns, and looks at Stiles like he was a complete idiot. He certainly felt like one.

“I meant for you.” Derek explains, less angry than before, but no less annoyed.

Stiles nods once again, before flailing his arms in Derek’s general direction, almost in an erratic shrug. “Of course you did …”

Stiles waits until Derek turns his back again, but notices with some surprise that Derek hadn't actually been walking back into the house, but he was heading to the side of the building. Did he really sleep still there? Stiles had thought Derek had moved into the weird factory type building ... 

“Why are you out here so late anyway?” The Alpha calls over his shoulder, obviously noticing that Stiles still wasn't moving. He didn't growl or flash his eyes though in an attempt to get him to leave, so Stiles figures that was a good sign at least.

“I told you, I’m running.” Stiles defends immediately, before rubbing his arms. He was starting to get cold.

“Running away from what exactly?” Derek continues, pausing now to turn and face Stiles, who had begun to bounce up and down slightly, to try and stop himself from freezing to death.

“I’m sure if there was some sort of monster on my ass, you’d be the first one to smell it.” Stiles replies, just as coldly, before rolling his eyes. Suddenly, Stiles realises what he had just said, and his mouth falls open, and his eyes widen. “I meant the monster. You'd be able to smell the monster. Not … y’know … not smell my ass.”

Derek rolls his eyes, before sighing loudly, and turning back towards the Hale house. This time, he doesn’t look back, but just calls over his shoulder, “Stiles, go home.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m going.” Stiles calls back, before turning and heading back into the thick trees.

He slowly heads back to his own house, not bothering to run, or even jog this time. He was too tired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Saturday 2nd April**

Stiles wakes up the next morning feeling like someone had beaten him with a Lacrosse stick, multiple times. Like seriously, ow. Every muscle in his body ached, and his head was pounding.

It also didn’t help that his Dad was banging on his bedroom door.

“Stiles, you up?” The cheery, and fully awake, voice calls from the other side of the closed door. Stiles thanked his Dad every day for being the kind of parent that respected privacy, and closed doors, and didn’t just barge in without making himself known. Otherwise, there would have been some pretty embarrassing encounters before now ... “Ready for breakfast?” The Sheriff asks, and that gets Stiles’ attention.

“Yeah,” Stiles croaks, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes. “I’ll be down in ten Dad.”

The Sheriff replies with a laugh, clearly amused by his son’s croaky morning voice. Stiles grunts and groans as he stretches, before sitting up to stop himself from falling back to sleep. He couldn’t be less awake, but pancakes and coffee were calling him, and he was really hungry.

Stiles rolls out of bed, literally, but is careful to avoid his dirty lacrosse shorts and socks that were strewn on the floor beside his bed. He hadn’t had the energy to do more than just pull them off and drop them on the floor when he had gotten home last night, or more accurately, this morning. He would deal with those later …

Stiles descends the stairs exactly 11 minutes later, after putting on some clean clothes, thoroughly washing his face and brushing his teeth. He did feel a little better, and more awake, but was still looking less than alive.

Seeing his Dad’s reaction, Stiles realises that the soap and warm water hadn’t helped his appearance as much as he thought it had.

“Woah …”

Stiles bends down slowly, and begins to try and put on his trainers whilst still standing, before thinking ‘screw it’ and falling on his behind right by the front door. He pulls on one of his shoes, before looking up at his Dad, who was giving him a look he knew only too well. Uh oh, he was in trouble ...

“What?” Stiles croaks, moving on to his next shoe. Was putting on trainers and tying laces always this hard work? He should invest in some Velcro.

“You don’t look so good. You sure you’re alright?” The Sheriff asks, and Stiles accepts the outstretched hand he was being offered to help himself up.

“Yep." Stiles replies, with a smile so wide it’s actually hurts his face. "Let’s go.”

The Sheriff opens the door for his son, whilst shaking his head, exasperated. Stiles just spins his car keys around his finger, and tries to ignore the fact that he could still see the sun rising. He must’ve only got about two hours sleep, if that.

Stiles drives himself and his dad to the local diner in his beloved Jeep, desperately trying to drive smoothly and not cause any accidents, which wasn’t an easy task considering he could feel his eyes drooping shut every few minutes. The Sheriff sends him a few curious looks, but mercifully, doesn't say anything about his son’s haggard appearance or questionable driving skills. Stiles guesses it's because he hasn't technically started his shift as the Sheriff yet.

The diner was a regular haunt for the Stilinski’s, and Stiles and his father get a wave and a smile from the servers as soon as they step through the door. They make their way to their usual booth, and both sit down in their usual places. They were so predictable …

“Morning Gents.” Sally, one of the servers greets cheerfully. Stiles smiles up at her, and notices that she was storing her favourite tiny pencil behind her ear, as always. “Coffee and strawberry milkshake? Large.” She adds, smiling at Stiles.

“Erm, no thanks." Stiles replies, just as Sally was scrawling their usual order on her small notebook "Can I get a coffee as well? Black.”

Sally looks surprised, but quickly manages to change her expression to a smile. “Sure thing, be right back.” The young woman turns and heads back into the kitchen, and Stiles is so tired that he doesn't even bother watching her as she walks away. That was another thing that he usually did.

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow at his son, before sighing. “Stiles, you look exhausted.”

“Yeah, just pulled an all-nighter. Had some work to finish.” Stiles explains, tapping his hands on the table in an erratic manner and what must have been an annoying rhythm.

The Sheriff sighs again, and shakes his head. Stiles just smiles slightly, before reaching over the table for the menu. It wasn’t as if he was going to order something different than what he always did, but it was a useful screen to hide behind. This was especially necessary considering the look his father was giving him from the other side of the table.

“What was it?” The Sheriff asks, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. He was wearing his Sheriff uniform, as usually he would walk to the station from the diner. That was the price Stiles had set for his dad if he wanted to eat his usually greasy and extremely unhealthy breakfast. 

“Biology homework.” Stiles replies, before putting the sticky menu back. “Figured I’d get it out of the way so I have the rest of the week free.”

“Smart.” The Sheriff answers, but his face makes Stiles think that his father thought that it was anything but. “It's a good idea, but not if you end up getting no sleep and wake up looking like that."

“I don’t look, that bad …” Stiles tries, but his father just sighs again.

“Stiles.”

Just then, Sally comes over to the table with their coffees, and Stiles and his father order the same breakfast they get every Saturday. A stack of pancakes each with bacon, extra syrup on the side and French toast to share.

Stiles pours two packets of sugar into his black coffee, and immediately feels the buzz of the caffeine as he takes his first sip. He would regret it later, but right now, it was exactly what he needed.

The food is good, as always, and it gives Stiles an excuse not to talk to his father, or his father to question him. He crams more syrupy pancake in his mouth, before reaching over for his coffee, and he takes a quick swig, whilst his mouth is still full of food.

His Dad winces.

“What? It’s all going to get mixed up in my stomach anyw-“

“Stiles.” The Sheriff interrupts, closing his eyes. “Please don’t finish that sentence. I’m begging you.”

Stiles smiles, and doesn’t say another word on the topic.

“Bumped into Melissa at the grocery store last night before I headed back to the station.” Stiles nods, letting his father know he was listening, even though he was a little preoccupied with scraping every last drop of syrup from his little jug. What was he, a goblin? Why did they make these things so small … “She said Scott was heading on a camping trip this week.”

Now that, _that_ gets Stiles’ attention away from his delicious breakfast.

“What?”

The Sheriff makes to continue, but his somewhat annoyed expression drops as soon as he sees his sons face.

“Didn’t you know?” Stiles shakes his head, and the Sheriff looks genuinely surprised by his sons response. “Oh.”

Stiles looks down at his food, trying to distract himself from thinking about this new piece of information, but the young man can’t stop his mind racing.

Why did Scott not invite him on a camping trip? Had he just forgotten about him? But, how the hell do you forget about someone you’ve been best friends with for sixteen years? And if he hadn't gone with Stiles, then who was he with? Although, Stiles thinks he knows the answer to that last question. Maybe he did invite him, and Stiles just forgot about it, or wasn’t paying attention.

No, Stiles would definitely remember something like that.

“I thought …” The Sheriff clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I thought you’d be telling me about it today, and I wanted to chastise you for not giving me any notice.”

“Scott didn’t say anything about it to me.” Stiles replies, his voice small and barely loud enough for his Dad to hear. He clears his throat, and sits up a little straighter. “Who’s he going with?”

“Stiles …”

“No, it’s okay Dad." Stiles reassures his father, "I’m just curious.”

The Sheriff sighs, “A couple of friends from school.” Stiles winces, and his father looks sympathetic, but continues. “Allison has a lake house an hour or so up North. They’ve invited Lydia and Jackson, Isaac, and those kids …” The Sheriff pauses, trying to remember the names.

“Erica and Boyd.” Stiles guesses, although it wasn’t really a guess. He knew it would be them, and his suspicion is shown to be right when his Dad nods, sadly.

“I’m sorry Stiles.”

“Hey, it’s fine!” Stiles replies, much too loudly, and too squeakily to be believable. “Scott is allowed to have other friends. It’s okay.”

The Sheriff nods, and both men begin to eat there breakfast once again. Stiles though, just picks at his food, and sips his coffee.

“Stiles, I can talk to Melissa, see if-“

“No Dad, it’s fine.” Stiles interrupts, before managing to conjure up a realistic looking enough smile onto his face. “I’ve got plenty of work to do, plus I was going to meet up with Danny for Lacrosse practice next week before next seasons try outs. It’s all good.”

The Sheriff smiles, reassured for the moment, before turning back to his food and finishing his breakfast.

Ok, so the thing about Danny wasn’t technically true, but hey, Stiles had his number, he could call him.

Stiles finds himself back home after breakfast, watching the next Star Wars movie in his room. Alone.

He had even locked the door to his bedroom, as if he was expecting that someone was going to barge in and ask him for help in a crazy Supernatural related matter. Now that Stiles knew the pack were going away on a trip, he knew that definitely wasn’t going to happen his week, and despite everything, Stiles considers that to be a small bonus.

His Dad had headed to work straight after breakfast, and wouldn’t be home before dark. Although, Stiles figured he wouldn’t even be home before morning. It was the first day of the school holidays after all, and a Saturday night. The Sheriff and the station would be swamped …

Stiles spins his phone around in his hand, only barely paying attention to the film.

He could just call Scott.

But he had tried that last night, and hadn’t gotten an answer. Leave a message then? But what could he say … Hey Scott, did you forget something, or someone, when you went on your little camping trip? The worst part was, it probably wasn’t even an actual camping trip …

Stiles sighs, and throws himself down on his bed. He was bored, again, and Stiles feeling bored was never good, for anyone. He briefly thinks about calling Danny, but figures that maybe he should save that for later in the week. After all, if he was already this bored on the first day off, he could barely imagine how bored he would be at the end of the week. So he would save Danny from his irritating company for now, and just amuse himself. Although, that was easier said than done.

Oh well, he still had his gym kit.

After getting changed, and grabbing a small snack from the kitchen, Stiles heads back into the woods. He had been thinking about taking a nap when he had gotten home, but he just wasn't really that tired anymore. He blamed the coffee, and hoped some fresh air and exercise would get the caffeine out of his system. The last thing he needed was not being able to get sleep later on.

He jogs around in circles, carefully avoiding tree roots and rocks, and trying not to get too dirty. After all, he would be the one cleaning his kit. He wonders how he had managed to avoid falling on his ass last night, considering how clumsy he was and how ‘trip-able’ nature was.

Stiles pulls his headphones out as he reaches the Hale house. Derek wasn’t around, Stiles knew that immediately after spotting the vacant space that the Sourwolf usually parked his sleek black Camaro. The house was just as creepy in the day than it was in the night, and Stiles wonders if he was even going to get to explore the inside. He doesn’t count on it.

Putting his headphones back in, Stiles turns away from the shell of a house, and heads back into the woods. Just as a particular badass song starts playing, Stiles spots a tree. Now, there are many trees in the woods, but this tree … this tree was awesome. It was huge, looked ancient, and had the perfect amount of thick branches for gripping onto. It was begging to be climbed, and hey, who was Stiles to turn down a perfect opportunity to climb a tree. He was a human, not an idiot.

Just as Stiles gets halfway up the tree, he hears the tell-tale sound of someone walking nearby. Branches were cracking underfoot as someone approached, but Stiles didn’t even bother to pause his music, or stop climbing.

After all, all the weird and supernatural had left Beacon Hills. Scott had seen to that when he and his pack had taken an impromptu vacation.

“Don’t break your neck.”

Stiles laughs, not even bothering to look down at the figure stood below him, although he does reach down to turn off his music. That was only polite.

“Nice to see you too Derek. Let me guess, 'I’m in your territory'.” Stiles tries to do a good impression of the broody werewolf, but it weirdly sounds more like Batman than the Alpha.

“No.” Derek answers, raising his voice slightly so that the very human Stiles could hear him from where he was climbing. “But it’ll be a pain for me if you die so close to my house.”

Stiles laughs, and finally manages to perch himself on a thick branch. He swings his legs off the side, and looks down at Derek.

Holy shit! He was really high up …

“Erm …”

Derek sends Stiles a look that he is only to familiar with by now. The Sourwolf thinks he’s an idiot. “And how are you planning to get down?” Derek questions, before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jump.” Stiles replies immediately, enjoying the expression Derek makes in response. “You’ll have to catch me. The whole ‘fair maiden’ deal.”

“Why aren’t you with Scott?” Derek asks suddenly.

Despite Stiles assuring himself he had totally gotten over the complete and utter betrayal of Scott leaving Beacon Hills without him, he still grits his teeth at the reminder. "He didn’t invite me.”

Derek frowns. “What?”

Stiles sighs, and yells back, “He didn-“

“I heard you Stiles, I just don’t understand.” Derek interrupts, and Stiles scoffs in response.

Kicking his legs, the young man sighs. “Yeah, me neither.”

Stiles hears Derek move around the base of the tree, but doesn’t look down to watch what the werewolf was doing. He wasn’t afraid of heights or anything, but looking down was just going to remind him that he would actually have to climb down. He was not looking forward to that.

“You’ll have to climb down this way …” Derek calls, from the right side of the tree. “It’s safer.”

Stiles smiles, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah ok.” The young man sighs, before turning to clamber his way back to solid ground.

Derek stands directly under Stiles the entire time, frowning, and keeping his hands out of his pockets, as if he were expecting that he would have to suddenly reach out and catch Stiles in mid-air, before he hit the ground. It was annoying, even though Stiles had to admit it made the experience a little easier.

“Why didn’t Scott invite you to the Lake House?” Derek asks after a while, and Stiles sighs.

He really didn't want to talk about it, but it was Derek, and Stiles had a feeling the Alpha wasn't going to let it go if he didn't get an answer to his question.

“I …” Stiles stops suddenly, looking down over his shoulder to see Derek. He was still a good couple of feet off the ground. “How do you know where he went?”

Derek just rolls his eyes. “Isaac, Erica and Boyd, even Jackson are my pack. I need to know where they are.”

“I thought they were Scott’s pack?” Stiles asks, panting slightly from exertion as he carefully places his foot on a lower branch.

“They are." Derek continues, still watching Stiles closely as he descends the tree "I’m the Alpha though. Scott’s still training.”

“Sc-“

Just as Stiles turns to reply to Derek, the branch his foot was resting on snaps, and the young man immediately drops towards the ground. Derek though, is quick, and manages to catch Stiles in his arms before he breaks his legs, or something worse.

“You ok?” Derek asks, and Stiles slowly opens his eyes.

Oh god, Derek was cradling him. _Cradling_ him.

“Yeah.” Stiles breathes back, purposely avoiding looking at the Alpha in the eyes. “You can put me down …”

Before Stiles can even finish the sentence, he is on his feet, and Derek is walking away, heading back to the Hale house.

“No more climbing.” The werewolf grumbles as he storms off.

“Yes mother!” Stiles calls back, and Derek growls in response.

Clearly, the Sourwolf hadn't appreciated the amazing Game of Thrones reference. The heathen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sunday 3rd April**

Stiles slowly strolls onto the field, keeping any eye out for his friend, whilst trying not to drop his bag or Lacrosse stick as he moved. It was a lot to juggle, especially considering it was 9am on a Sunday morning, and he hadn’t gotten _any_ sleep last night.

Danny on the other hand, looked as he always did. Cheerful, well rested, and well, you’d be an idiot not to admit that he was kinda handsome.

“Good morning.” Danny greets cheerfully, before dropping his bags on the side of the Lacrosse field.

“Urgh, I knew you would be a morning person.” Stiles grumbles, before reaching for his bottle of energy drink and downing the entire thing in one go. He _really_ needed it.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Danny retorts, still smiling, and not commenting on Stiles emptying the bottle of bright blue fluid. 

“Not a bad thing." Stiles concedes, dropping his now empty energy drink into his bag "Just kinda weird …”

Danny laughs, before reaching for his Lacrosse stick. “C’mon.”

He actually jogs to the centre of the field, and Stiles sighs, before moving to join him, albeit at a slower pace. He really should have gotten some more sleep last night, or more accurately, he really should have got _some_ sleep last night. After coming back from the woods, slightly tired and completely filthy, he had showered, eaten and gone to bed around midnight. He had led in bed tossing and turning all night, refusing to let himself go on his computer, or even use his phone.  

“Who the hell practices Lacrosse during the holidays anyway?” Stiles grumbles, as he starts to stretch. “We’re insane.”

Danny smirks up at Stiles from where he leaning down to touch his toes. Was there anything the guy couldn't do?! “People who want to make first line?”

“Touché” Stiles responds, and Danny smiles.

“You wanna play goal?”

“Sure.” Stiles accepts the large padded helmet from Danny, before jogging over to the goal at the end of the field. It was a nice enough day, but Stiles couldn't help but feel like it would have been an even nicer day if he had been in bed. He knew that texting Danny this morning was a bad idea ...

Reaching the goal, Stiles turns to face Danny, and calls to him before he puts on the Lacrosse helmet. 

“Don’t act like this isn’t just an excuse for you to throw things at me!”

“Dude, that’s exactly what Lacrosse is!” Danny calls back, before tipping out a netted bag, and letting a load of white lacrosse balls swarm around his feet.

With one easy motion, the young man sweeps one into his stick, and throws it towards the goal. Stiles, who was still basically asleep, barely moves out of the way in time before it hit him in the crotch. Danny smirks, before reaching for the next ball. This time, it hits Stiles in the neck. Luckily it hadn’t been a hard throw, but Danny still looks ready to call an ambulance.

“OW! Watch the face man …” Stiles complains, rubbing his neck but still smiling behind the mask to mollify his concerned companion.

“Sorry!” Danny calls back, before reaching for the next ball. He waits for Stiles to nod before throwing the ball. “You heard from Scott?” The man asks conversationally, before making another perfect throw. Stiles really needed to get his head in the game, literally. 

“Nope.” Stiles answers quickly, catching the next ball, and throwing it back.

“I figured you would have gone with them.”

“Yeah.”

Danny stops for a moment, about to throw the next ball, when he notices that Stiles had stopped smiling, and looked less than comfortable.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t get invited either.”

Stiles smiles then, before quickly stopping himself, and taking a deep breath. He nods his head, and tries to look deathly serious. “You know what, that does actually make me feel better …”

“Jerk.” Danny snaps back.

“Bitch.” Stiles replies, just as quickly, making Danny laugh loudly as he throws the next ball. “Wait, do you watch Supernatural?!” Stiles’ asks excitedly, almost getting hit once again.

“Dude, it’s hot guys driving around and killing things. What’s not to love …”

Stiles manages to catch the next ball, and Danny congratulates him once again, before jogging over to get a drink from his bag at the side of the pitch.

See, Stiles thinks, who needs Scott? Danny was awesome, _and_ he watched awesome television shows. He even offers to stand in goal for a bit, and Stiles immediately accepts the offer. He got hit with things all the time, now it was someone else's turn. 

Stiles and Danny practice up until lunch time, when Stiles then invites his companion over for lunch.

A few hours later, the two men end up sat in Stiles’ room, eating grilled cheese sandwiches, (no chips allowed in his bedroom after the Dorito fiasco) and watching re runs of Supernatural on Stiles’ laptop.

“So, who’s your guy, Sam or Dean?” Stiles asks conversationally from his desk chair, whilst Danny was sat on the bed behind him.

Both characters were talking on the screen, weirdly and ironically, about werewolves. Stiles was trying to ignore that. 

“Castiel.” Danny answers quickly, not even tearing his eyes away from the small screen.

“Really?” Stiles asks, genuinely surprised. The young man nods, before taking a bite of his sandwich. “Huh, I figured you’d be a Dean kind of guy …”

“Yeah, he's awesome, but dark hair and blues eyes just …” Danny sighs, before gazing at the aforementioned character who had just appeared on the screen, as he gruffly explained something about an Angel Tablet to a confused side character.

Stiles looks between Danny and the computer, before slowly reaching out, and moving it further away from the man on the bed.

“Okay dude. Don’t make out with my laptop.”

Danny laughs loudly, as does Stiles, whilst he ignores the buzzing of his phone from the desk.

"Aren't you gonna get that?" Danny questions, just as the episode ends.

Stiles just shakes his head, and Danny doesn't say anything else about it, even though someone rings Stiles two more times.  

They watch five more episodes of Supernatural, before Danny mentions something about having to go to dinner with his parents, and he leaves Stiles alone in his room. He contemplates marathoning some more of the show, but quickly becomes bored of staring at his computer, and decides that he wants to get out of the house.

This time, Stiles leaves the house with a backpack and his phone, and leaves a message for his Dad on the kitchen table that he was training for Lacrosse with Danny. He wasn’t _really_ lying. After all, he had been training with Danny. He just doesn’t mention that he went home …

Stiles packs a torch, a bottle of water, his iPod, phone, keys, some candy and an extra jacket into his bag before he leaves the house. He doesn’t know how long he would be out in the woods, but figures that he should be prepared. He didn’t have super healing abilities after all. It's only as Stiles steps out of the house, that he wonders whether maybe he should have packed a first aid kit as well …

Stiles goes back to a few large fallen tree trunks he had seen the day before, and decides to use them as giant hurdles. He ends up scraping up his legs, knees and hands, and really does start to think that bringing a first aid kit would have been a good idea. But after his activity he feels out of breath, full of adrenaline, and like he could sleep for days, and right now, considering how little sleep he gotten the past few days, that could only be a good thing.

Just as Stiles swings himself up onto a large fallen tree trunk, his phone begins buzzing in his pocket. He doesn’t manage to get it out of his bag in time to answer, but sees the tell-tale flashing light that signifies someone has left him a message. He almost deletes it when he sees who had left it. Scott.

Warily, Stiles presses the play button, and leans back on the trunk, catching his breath.

“ _Hey man, it’s Scott. Listen …”_

Stiles couldn’t hear anyone else in the background, and figures that Scott must have purposely gone somewhere away from the cabin to call him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“ _I saw that you called me a few days ago, and I’m really sorry I didn’t call back. I’ve just been so busy y’know? With school, Allison, my mum …”_

Stiles sighs, and rubs his eyes with his free hand. Get to the point Scott.

“ _Anyway, I’ll get to the point. We’re all out here to deal with something, pack related.”_

Stiles snaps his eyes open so quickly he almost gets dizzy.

 _“We didn’t want to concern you, or let you get hurt … ‘_ _Scott!”_

Stiles recognises Allison’s voice in the background of the message, and sighs.

“ _Anyway, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. See you man.”_

Stiles places the phone back into his bag, and continues to lie on his back for a while. He was tired, and he didn’t really want to move, but he knew that it was nearly midnight, and he really should be heading back home by now, or his dad would be worried.

Begrudgingly, Stiles clambers down from the tree.

As he puts a hand on the ground to steady himself, his hand manages to land on a small piece of jagged rock. Stiles hisses as he cuts himself, and tries not to cry out in pain or annoyance as he pulls his hand up from the filthy ground, and begins makes his way back home.

After a while of walking, Stiles cannot ignore the pain in his hand any longer, and stops to inspect his injury. There was a long ugly cut right down the centre of his palm, and it was bleeding heavily, with blood running down his hand and arm. Stiles sighs, and clutches his hand to his chest, ignoring the fact that he was staining his new shirt with blood.

He can’t help but angrily kick rocks and leaves out of the way as he walks through the woods, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his hand.

Only one thought was going around in the young’s man head as he headed home. See, now this is why Scott doesn’t include you. You’re useless …

The Sheriff is sat in the kitchen when Stiles gets back, and he knows his Dad must have only just got back from the station. He looks up and smiles as Stiles drops his bag by the front door, before frowning.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Oh nothing, just fell.” Stiles dismisses, waving the hand around in a ‘look it’s fine’ type motion, but regretting it immediately when it starts bleeding once again.

“Do you want me to call Melissa? Or I can drive you to-“

“It’s fine Dad, just a scratch. I’ll deal with it.” Stiles replies, already heading up the stairs to his room.

The Sheriff doesn't look pleased, but he doesn't argue, or try to stop his son. “Ok. Goodnight.”

“Night Dad.” Stiles calls over his shoulder.

He spends a long time in the shower, cleaning off the dirt, sweat and blood. His hand doesn’t stop bleeding, and so he wraps it, somewhat badly, in bandages and dressing, before pulling on some clean clothes, and crawling into bed.

Stiles finds himself unable to sleep yet again, but instead of grabbing his laptop to amuse himself, he just looks up at his bedroom ceiling, planning what he was going to say to Scott when the pack got back. Was he even allowed to be angry? After all, Scott had said they were trying to protect him …

Oh screw that, Stiles thinks, as he gently rubs his bandaged hand. When Scott gets back, he is dead meat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Monday 4th April**

It was only early Monday morning, but Stiles already had received three more calls, sixteen text messages, and even a _very_ long email from Scott. Stiles had to admit that he was slightly impressed that Scott even had access to the internet whilst staying in a cabin up in the middle of nowhere, but then again, Lydia was on the trip, and God knows she wouldn’t have lasted more than an hour without access to Facebook and Instagram.

Stiles had ignored all the calls and messages. After all, his mantra was, ignore the problem, and it'll go away. That didn't seem to be working though, as Scott just wasn't giving up, and it didn't look like he was going to any time soon. 

The Sheriff was currently sat at the kitchen table, watching Stiles try and make a cup of coffee for himself with his still sore and bandaged hand. As Stiles was attempting to open the new carton of milk, and getting an exasperated look from his father when he insisted he could do it himself, Stiles’ phone rings, again.

“Is that Scott?”

Stiles doesn’t even bother checking the caller ID. “Probably.” He finally relents, and hands the carton to his father. “He’s called me like three times this morning.”

“You’re not going to talk to him?” The Sheriff questions, with a raised eyebrow. 

Stiles sighs, and accepts the now open carton of milk from his father. “Nope. I don’t really know what I want to say.”

The Sheriff nods, before taking a bite of his toast. (With low fat spread, or course) “It’s okay to be mad Stiles, but this is Scott we’re talking about. You will need to have a conversation with him about this whole thing eventually.”

“I know.” Stiles sits down at the breakfast bar, triumphantly smiling down at his coffee. It had taken him fifteen minutes to make, so it had better be good …

“I’ll be back for lunch, but it looks like I’ll be at the station late.” Stiles nods, he had expected as much. “You gonna meet up with Danny again?”

Stiles thinks about telling his father the truth, that he would probably be alone in his room on his computer all day, but seeing his fathers concerned expression, he quickly changes his mind. “Yeah, we’re probably going to hang out at his place.”

“Ok.” The Sheriff smiles, before standing and moving to take his empty plate and cup to the sink. He turns to watch Stiles pick up his coffee, and take a huge gulp of the hot fluid. "You sure you don't want to get that checked out?" He asks, nodding down at Stiles' bandaged hand.

"It's fine." Stiles insists, even though it was anything but. He clears his throat, trying to ease the burning sensation from drinking the hot coffee. "Have a good shift."

The Sheriff smiles, before collecting his coat. “See you later.”

Stiles waves as his father leaves, and waits until he hears the door shut before grimacing down at his hand. Man, it _really_ hurt. Stupid rock.

Despite Stiles’ anger at nature for injuring him, he knows he will probably be heading back into the woods soon. After all, he was completely bored at the house by himself, and at least going out and running around in circles would be more entertaining than pacing around the house for a few hours.

Stiles decides that climbing or trying to hurdle over tree trunks was probably not a good idea whilst his hand hurt so much, so he decides instead to just jog around listening to music.

The woods were peaceful, tranquil even, and Stiles wonders why it had taken him so long to realise it. He had lived in his house in Beacon Hills for sixteen years, and the only times he had ventured out in the woods was when he and Scott were trying to get out of doing some homework, or were venturing out in the middle of the night to look for a body. Stiles quickly stops himself from thinking about that too much, remembering what had happened to Scott, and what Laura had looked like. 

Before Stiles can distract himself too much by thinking about the Hale family, or werewolves in general, he stumbles (literally) upon a tree with a perfect overhanging branch. After taking out his iPod, placing his bag and jacket down at the foot of the tree, he reaches up without a second thought, and begins to use it to pull himself up.

He had seen Isaac and Scott do at least thirty of these pull ups in the changing room at school, and yet, he could barely manage two in a row without slipping down or only making it half way up. He blames his hand …

Without his iPod blasting angsty music, he could hear birds, the sound of cars driving down the road nearby, and the cracking of branches as animals walked around. It was peaceful, and for a few minutes, Stiles manages to forget all the angst and drama in his life. 

Suddenly, Stiles feels more than hears the presence of someone nearby, but doesn’t stop trying to pull himself up. In his mind, he figures he must look like some kind of badass hero in the middle of a working out montage. In reality, he knew he probably just looked like a scrawny teenager hanging from a tree branch.  

A figure suddenly emerges from the trees, and stands just in the corner of Stiles' vision. He can't help but roll his eyes. 

“What?” Stiles snaps, realising that Derek was just going to stand silently, and stare at him.

“You’re hanging off a tree branch, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the day, alone, and you’re asking _me_ ‘what?’.”

Stiles scoffs, and pulls attempts to pull himself up once again, although slowly. He didn't want to fall down, especially now that he had a audience. “Wow, I think that was the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

Derek huffs, and begins to walk forward, to stand directly in front of the panting man. “And up until then, that was the less I’ve ever heard you talk.”

“Screw you.” Stiles bites back, before he nearly falls back down onto the floor.

“Put your arms closer together …” Derek murmurs, and Stiles squints towards him. Man, he was tired.

“What?”

Derek rolls his eyes. He did that a lot when he was around Stiles. “Move your hands closer together.”

“Are you seriously giving me advice on working out in the middle of the woods?” Stiles replies haughtily, holding onto the branch, but not pulling himself up. His injured hand was starting to throb.

“You’re the one ‘working out’ here in the first place.” Derek retorts, and he looked ready to march back into the trees where he had come from. 

Stiles looks at Derek, trying to think of a good come back to that, but fails. “Fine.” He shifts his arms closer together on the branch. Annoyingly, that did seem easier. “Better?” He asks sarcastically, with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"You tell me ..."

Derek takes a step back, giving Stiles more room to pull himself up. Or more likely, he wanted to get out of the way in case Stiles feel to the floor in a heap.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles grips the branch righter, and pulls himself up. Annoyingly, it was easier, and given by Derek's smug expression, the Alpha knew it.

"You training to be a  ... personal trainer?" Stiles mumbles dumbly, his cheeks burning red from the exercise, and embarrassment. 

“Yes.” Derek replies, sarcastically, and completely deadpan.

Stiles knows he is joking, but can't help but imagine Derek in front of a exercise class, wearing a sweat band on his head and matching coloured wristbands. The thought makes him smile, and he bites his lip after Derek scowls at him, as if he could tell what he was thinking. 

He watches Stiles pull himself up once, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You know, there are such things as gyms Stiles.”

“Yeah, great places for scrawny sixteen year olds to work out and not get laughed at …” Stiles responds, barely managing to keep his voice even. How did Isaac and Scott make this look so easy? Oh yeah, werewolves. 

“I have a house.”

Stiles stops pulling himself up, and looks over towards Derek, miraculously managing to keep his face straight, and he nods sincerely.

“Yes, yes you do.”

“Shut up.” Derek snaps, and Stiles can’t help but smile. “I mean …”

“Do you have a gym in your house?” Stiles asks, enjoying the expression Derek makes.

“Well, not exac-“

“Oh my god, you totally do!” Stiles exclaims, letting go from the branch and landing (thankfully) on his two feet. “I knew it, you’re one of those ‘work out every day’ type people.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Derek growls back, but Stiles was still smiling.

“So, do you like, lift trees? Throw deer carcasses? Karate chop rocks in half?”

“Yes.” Derek replies deadpan, and Stiles stops his karate moves to gawk at the werewolf.

“Really?”

Derek sighs, and moves around Stiles so he was stood under the branch. “No Stiles. I picked up some things at the ‘Fitness Warehouse’. I paid for them, with a credit card.”

“Wow, civilised.” Stiles replies, nodding.

"I'm just saying ..." Derek continues, ignoring the snide remark. "If you ever get tired of working out using trees ..."

"You'd let me use your stuff? At your house?"

"Yes." Derek replies, and he doesn't sound like he's joking, but with Derek, Stiles can never be sure. 

He squints suspiciously at the Alpha, before cautiously asking him, "Why?"

"Why not?" Derek replies quickly, and he wasn't even looking at Stiles as he continued to pull himself up using the branch. 

"No, I mean ..." Stiles shakes his head, trying to get himself to focus. "Why are you asking _me_?"

Derek sighs, and looks exasperated. "Stiles, I was just trying-"

"No, it's ok. I mean, thank you."

Stiles suddenly feels his hand throb, and he looks down to check his injury, and almost curses out loud when he sees that is bleeding, again.

“Does your Dad know you’re out here?”

Stiles spins around to face his companion, and is surprised to see that Derek was pulling himself up using the branch. He wasn’t even out of breath. The bastard. Stupid werewolf stamina. 

“No.”

“Does anyone?” Derek asks, before letting go of the thick branch with one hand. He must be doing this on purpose …

“No.” Stiles replies again, although what he really wants to say is ‘show off’.

Suddenly, Derek let’s go of the branch, and easily lands on the ground.

“Let me see.”

Stiles frowns, genuinely confused at the sudden change in conversation, but Derek just sighs, and holds his hand out.

“What?”

“Your hand Stiles, it’s bleeding.”

“I noticed.” Stiles responds, purposely moving his hand closer to his chest, and away from the grouchy werewolf.

“What did you do?”

Derek asks the question as if he were speaking to a small child, and Stiles doesn’t appreciate it. He bends down, and grabs his bag from near the bottom of the tree, before walking away from the werewolf, and back towards his house.

“Stiles!”

Stiles ignores Derek, even though he sounded genuinely concerned, and he wasn’t really used to hearing that kind of thing from the usual stoic Sourwolf.

“It’s fine.” Stiles replies, not loudly, knowing that Derek’s werewolf hearing meant he could hear him anyway.

Derek sighs, and Stiles knows that he is following him. “What is going on with you?” The man asks, or more like, growls.

“Like you care!” Stiles explodes, whirling around to face the Alpha.

Derek’s eyes widen in shock, and Stiles sighs, before rubbing his uninjured hand down his face. Of all the people to yell at, Derek Hale wasn’t a good choice.

“Sorry.” Stiles mumbles, before continuing his path to his house, although, at a much calmer pace.

“You heard from Scott?” Derek asks calmly, still following closely behind the young man.

“He keeps calling me, but I haven’t called back.”

“Call him.”

Stiles turns to look at Derek, frowning in question. “Why?” he asks, somewhat suspiciously.

Derek shrugs, “Give him a chance to explain.”

Stiles doesn’t know what it is, or why he suddenly has a change of heart, but he finds himself saying “fine” and meaning it, before he storms back to his house.

He calls Scott as soon as he gets back into his room, not even bothering to get changed, or have a shower. He didn't want to give himself time to change his mind.

The phone rings for a long time before Scott answers, and Stiles almost wonders for a few seconds whether he was actually not going to pick up. Oh the irony. However, a few seconds later, a very tired and gruff sounding ‘hello’ comes down the line, and Stiles takes a deep breath before responding.

“Hi Scott …”

“Stiles!” Scott calls back, loudly “Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“

“Explain.” Stiles interrupts, not trusting himself to say anything else.

“Yeah, ok. Erm …” Scott clears his throat, and Stiles almost smiles when he pictures the expression he must have had on his face. He knew Scott so well. “Look, so there is this Omega out here.”

“Omega? Like, lone werewolf?” Stiles asks, interested now, but only slightly. After all, he was still mad.

“Yeah. Anyway, we needed to come up and find it, and see what they were doing. We couldn’t just leave them roaming around.”

“Okay …” Stiles replies, drawing out the word.

“We needed the pack to-“

“The pack.” Stiles interrupts, and he can hear Scott gulp on the other side of the line. “And what am I exactly?”

“Stiles …”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me what was going on?!” Stiles exclaims, sitting up from where he had been lying on his bed “I could have helped!”

“We were trying to keep you safe …”

“Oh yeah, great Scott. Keep me safe by not telling me anything. Brilliant.”

Stiles bites his lip, and takes a deep breath, that annoyingly shakes. He was not going to cry with Scott on the phone. He was not going to cry …

Scott though, with his super hearing, must hear him, as he sounds almost heartbroken when he says “Stiles …”

“No it’s fine. I totally get it. Bye Scott.”

Stiles hangs up before Scott could say anything else, and he doesn’t know whether it is the pain in his hand, the lack of sleep, or the fact that Scott doesn’t consider him part of the pack, but for the first time in a long time, he cries himself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Tuesday 5th April**

“Scott’s back.”

Stiles immediately stops pouring his bowl of Lucky Charms into his limited edition Star Wars bowl (what? it was his favourite), and turns to gawk at his father.

The Sheriff was sat at the long kitchen table, finishing his morning coffee, and looked like he was expecting Stiles to turn and immediately bolt out of the front door. He doesn't though, and even manages to keep himself from breaking anything in his immediate area. 

“When?” Stiles asks his father cautiously, and the Sheriff sighs.

“I bumped into Melissa again yesterday evening. He and everyone else came back last night.” The Sheriff watches Stiles closely, obviously wanting to see his sons' reaction, and frowns when he notices that Stiles looks somewhat hurt by this revelation. “He really didn't tell you that? Or about the trip?”

“No.” Stiles finishes pouring his cereal into the bowl, before strolling over to the fridge to grab some milk “I called him last night, but I ended up hanging up on him.”

The Sheriff’s eyes widen at this, and Stiles knows it’s because he _never_ does that. Well, there was the time Scott’s dad had called the house, but hey, that was a given. He wasn't going to talk to that asshole.

"Oh.” Is all his father says in response. Yep Dad, Stiles was really that mad. 

“Where is he?” Stiles tries to sound casual, but he doesn’t think he manages it. He bites his lip, before deciding to just cram his mouth full of food. That usually helped.

“Melissa said she was making his stay home for a few days." The Sheriff replies, watching as milk drips down Stiles' mouth and onto the kitchen table. "At least, until he’s finished with all his school work.”

Stiles nods jerkily, before swallowing his milky, marshmallowly goodness. “Cool.”

The Sheriff nods, apparently mollified by Stiles' somewhat calm reaction. He mumbles something about being home late, before walking over to the front door, and shrugging on his coat. It was a rainy day in Beacon Hills, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel like it was the perfect setting, considering his current mood.

“You going to go and talk to him?” Stiles’ dad asks cautiously before he opens the front door, and Stiles tries to look casual when he nods and replies.

“Yeah, I am.”

The Sheriff frowns, before shaking his head. "Talk to you later."

Stiles nods, and waves in the direction of the front door. Once he hears his father's cruiser pull out of the driveway, Stiles bolts up the stairs to grab his phone. Like he was going to wait for Scott to come to him. Knowing Scott, Stiles would be waiting for months ...

Stiles had driven to Scott’s house so many times he could probably do it blindfolded, although, he was never actually going to test that theory. That probably wasn’t a good idea; he didn't need his Dad to be the Sheriff to know that.

He never before though, had the urge to turn around once he had gotten onto the street where the McCall’s home was. He realises with some surprise, that he was nervous. _Really_ nervous. He didn't think Scott would be mad, or even annoyed at Stiles turning up and questioning him about the pack, but then, Stiles didn't think that Scott would even expect Stiles to be upset, or angry. 

Stiles was still thinking about what to say to his best friend when he strolls up to the front door, and knocks twice, quietly.

Scott looks tired and haggard when he opens the door, and Stiles can’t help but wonder just how late it had been when everyone had gotten back to Beacon Hills yesterday.

The young man looks genuinely shocked to see his best friend stood on his doorstep, and Stiles thinks it was maybe because he politely knocked, and didn’t just open the door and waltz into the house like he lived there. He had done that a lot.

“Stiles …” Scott smiles slightly as Stiles raises his hand in an awkward wave, before he frowns. “What happened to your hand?”

Stiles curses that rock, the woods, nature in general, and the fact he was a very breakable human. He shoves his bandaged hand into his giant hoody pocket, and shifts awkwardly on his feet. When he was nervous, he could rarely keep still.

“I fell.” Stiles explains, and Scott frowns in suspicion, or maybe confusion, but he still moves back to allow his friend to walk into the house, and doesn't press him for any more information. 

Melissa was sat at the bottom of the stairs, pulling on her work shoes, and she looks up as she hears the door shut.

“Hey Stiles.” Stiles doesn’t think he is imagining the almost apologetic tone to the woman’s voice. Scott seems to hear it as well, as he visibly winces when his mother sends him a look. If that was directed at Stiles, he would have gulped ... “Is your hand ok?" Melissa continues, obviously having overheard the conversation at the doorway. Or maybe she had been listening. "Do you want me to take a look?”

Stiles has to count to three to stop himself from screaming ‘My hand is fine!’. Instead he just nod erratically, and pulls his hand out of the pocket to wave it in Melissa’s direction.

“It’s fine Melissa, thanks.”

The Nurse nods, before standing and collecting her bag and coat from near the front door. Stiles and Scott were still stood in the hallway, shifting awkwardly on their feet, and not making any move to go deeper into the house.

“Scott, why don’t you and Stiles go in the living room?” Melissa suggests, and Scott starts nodding before she had even finished speaking. “I’m going to be back late." Stiles moves forward, letting Scott and his mother speak without him. "Everything going to be ok?”

It’s only as Stiles sits down on one of the large sofa’s that he actually realises Melissa was talking about him. He looks over his shoulder to smile at the concerned woman, trying to look like he wasn’t having a hard time stopping himself from hitting Scott over the head with his Lacrosse stick. Repeatedly.

“See you later.” Scott closes the door as Melissa leaves, and Stiles can’t help the small laugh that comes from his mouth when he sees his friends expression.

“She mad at you?”

“Yeah.” Scott replies, as he sits down on the empty sofa opposite Stiles, and not on the other half of the sofa Stiles was sat on. 

Stiles really tries not to think too much into that. He brings a hand up to his face, and runs it over his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

Stiles resists the urge to scoff, but can’t help the sarcastic smile that falls onto his face. “Nope, not really.”

“We found the Omega.” Scott continues, and Stiles turns towards his friend, seeing that he was picking at the sleeve of his jersey. He was nervous too. “He didn’t want to join the pack, so he left the territory. Shouldn’t be bothering us anymore.”

Stiles’ mouth opens and closes a few times, doing a pretty good impersonation of a fish, before he can even think about forming a coherent response to that. Scott looks confused as to his friends reaction, and frowns.

“You offered …” Stiles takes a deep breath, before kicking his feet up from the floor and putting them under himself. He _really_ needed some Adderall. “He could have joined the pack?”

“Well yeah, that’s how it works.” Scott replies calmly, as if he hadn’t just clubbed Stiles' feelings in the head with his Supernatural strength. Scott shrugs with a small smile. “Derek’s teaching me.”

“Derek’s teaching you to approach strangers and invite them home?”

“No, not exactly …” Scott defends, and he rolls his eyes. “He said it would be a long shot. Omega’s are usually Omega’s for a reason. He didn’t want anything to do with us, so we asked him to leave our territory.”

Stiles nods, then smiles, then nods some more.

Here he was, trying desperately to understand why he wasn’t considered part of the pack, and Scott could have been bringing a random guy home to live in Beacon Hills and be part of the Hale – McCall pack. He suddenly had the urge to throw up …

“Stiles?”

Stiles ignores the concerned looks from Scott. Clearly, he was listening to the man’s erratic heart. “What about Lydia and Allison?”

Scott appears to be confused as to the sudden change in conversation, but he still knows what his friend meant. Why were the humans tagging along?

“Allison said she wouldn’t let me go without her, and then Lydia heard about it, and said she wasn’t going to get left behind.” Scott must realise what he had said, as he immediately tries to take it back. “I mean, she wanted to be with Jackson.”

Stiles tries to keep calm, but he can’t help but picture them all together, at the lake house, roasting marshmallows and playing ‘who’s the scariest Supernatural being?’. 

He stands from the sofa, and begins to pace around the living room. Scott doesn’t try to stop him. Wise decision, Scott.

“Why Scott? Just tell me why of everyone, _I’m_ the one who gets left behind?”

“Because you could die Stiles!”

“Any one of us could die Scott!” Stiles explodes, enjoying the reaction from his friend. Yeah, you feel guilty “You don’t get to keep me from all this, thinking that you’re keeping me safe! You’re just keeping me away from you! From people I thought were my friends!”

“We are your friends!”

Stiles scoffs, and runs his hand through his hair, before widely waving his hands around. “No Scott, friends don’t push people away, and they definitely don’t ignore each other.”

“I haven’t ignored you!”

Stiles just raises an eyebrow.

Scott sighs, before closing is eyes, and leaning back into the sofa. He looked tired … “Stiles, I can’t …”

“I’m not useless.” Stiles interrupts, and that gets Scott’s attention.

“I didn’t say …”

“You didn’t have to Scott.”

Stiles throws himself back down on the sofa, and tries to calm himself down. Having a panic attack wasn’t going to help his case. 

“You are part of the pack Stiles." His werewolf companion says quietly, and sincerely "You’re my brother, and my best friend …”

"Well now you're just sending me mixed signals." Stiles hisses, and he's almost surprised to hear the venom in his voice. "One minute, I'm not part of the pack because I'm human, then I am ..."

"I can't lose you Stiles!"

Stiles doesn't have a response to that, and instead, he chooses to stay silent, and just lets Scott talk. Scott never yelled, not like that. Stiles puts a hand over his eyes, trying to ease his headache. 

“After what happened with Jackson, and Matt … You had a gun pointed at you Stiles, and I realised, if you got shot …”

“Scott, Allison and Lydia don’t heal like you do either.” Stiles retorts, lowering his hand so he could glare at his werewolf companion. “So if you’re trying to use the whole 'human' thing as an excuse, it’s not going to work.”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles closes his eyes, and leans back down onto the sofa. Damn you Scott, with your puppy dog eyes …

“Do you have any idea how it feels? To find out from your _Dad_ that your best friend has gone on a trip with his ‘friends’ and you had no idea.”

“They are my friends Stiles, and you’re-“

“Friends, that hilarious.” Stiles interrupts, “You used to hate Jackson, you didn’t know Erica existed, even though you were in the same class, and Boyd … you never said two words to each other!”

“Stiles, please calm down …” Scott speaks quietly, and he sounds worried.

Stiles knows why. Even he can feel his heart hammering against his ribs. He throws himself up from the sofa, and begins to pace once again.

“Hey, and remember the time when I was your go between so you could speak to Allison every day when her Dad threatened to kill you?" Scott sighs, but Stiles barrels on, not letting his friend respond. "How about when I saved Derek from drowning when he was paralysed? How I stopped Derek and his little pack from killing Lydia when they thought _she_ was the Kanima? How about when I saved everyone from Jackson?” Scott looks like he is about to reply, but Stiles just continues, not letting his friend speak again. “Or, how about when I was there for you, every day when you first starting turning? Tying you up, making sure you didn’t hurt anyone, or kill anyone.” Stiles finally stops, and ends up facing away from Scott, and looking towards the front door. “And after all that, I’m not part of the pack, because I’m _just_ human. Not a Hunter, or a Banshee, or a werewolf … just human.”

Scott looks heartbroken, and so Stiles very quickly stops looking at him. He was mad, hell, he _wanted_ to be mad, and Scott's wide and pleading eyes was not helping that. 

“You know Peter offered me the bite?” Stiles says conversationally, and it takes Scott a few seconds to realise what his friend was hinting towards. 

“St-“

“Maybe I should have said yes.” Stiles interrupts, already throwing the front door open, and storming out to his Jeep.

“Stiles, don’t …!”

Stiles drives away ridiculously quickly, and very dramatically, from the McCall’s driveway, and speeds all the way back to his own house.

He half expected to see Scott chasing the car when he looked in his rear view mirror, and is only slightly disappointed when he sees an empty road. 

Once he was sat in his own driveway, Stiles pulls out his phone, but keeps his engine running. He clicks on the number he thought he would never call, and before he can change his mind, he holds the phone up to his ear. He answers on the second ring.

“Stiles, what an unexpected pleasure.”

“I need to talk to you, Peter. Where are you?”

* * *

The address Peter gives him turns out to belong to a giant building on the edge of town. Peter had mumbled something about a loft, and Stiles had actually rolled his eyes so hard he had almost seen his brain. Of course, grouchy, broody Peter Hale lived in a loft. After all, he always wore a v neck, no matter what the weather was like. Stiles wasn’t sure what else he had been expecting.

What Stiles doesn’t expect to see when he gets there however, is an angry Derek Hale.

He slowly and warily walks into the apartment, although you could barely call it that. There was one large unmade bed, a sofa that looked like it was more a modern art sculpture than a piece of furniture, and a small wooden table holding a few books. It was basically empty, and kinda cold. Perfect for Peter, Stiles thinks, as he nosily looks around. 

Derek actually growls as Stiles walks towards Peter, who was sat on the ‘sofa’ wearing the biggest smirk Stiles had ever seen the man wear. 

Stiles turns towards the source of growl so quickly he almost gets whiplash. “Derek? What the-“

“No.” Derek interrupts, and that is all that the Alpha says in response. Although, ‘says’ is a strong word. It was more like a bark.

Rationally, Stiles knows that Peter probably just called his nephew and told Derek that Stiles was coming to see him, but even still, he can’t help but glare back at the Alpha like  _he_  was intruding.

Peter sighs, obviously not bothered in the slightest by the glowing eyes and protruding claws on the other side of the room. “Derek, if Stiles wants to talk to me …”

“No Stiles.” Derek says again, completely ignoring his Uncle and glaring back at the human in front of him.

Stiles was used to ‘glarey’ Derek though, and so it wasn’t half as intimidating as it used to be.

Stiles looks over to Peter, who sighs once again, and then back to Derek, who growls  _again_.

It annoyingly takes his brain a few seconds to actually compute what was going on, but then, after seeing Peter’s dare he say it,  _apologetic_ expression, Stiles just knows.

Derek was here to stop him.

Well, screw Derek.

“What has this got to do with you exactly?” Stiles barks to Derek, and just to add to the 'annoyed' and 'angry' effect, he crosses his arms over his chest.

Derek grits his teeth for a moment, before replying. “Everything, considering  _I’m_  the Alpha.”

Stiles’ mouth flails open and closed for a few seconds, before he just gives up with trying to come up with a smart comeback to that comment. “I don’t follow …”

“You can’t be turned by a Beta or Omega wolf Stiles.” Peter interrupts, now going back to wearing a stupid smile on his face. “It has to be an Alpha.”

Stiles fights the urge to march over to Peter and hit the smug look from his face. Although, his hand was probably going to be the injured party if that happened.

Stiles thinks back to when Peter had originally offered him the bite, and suddenly realisation, and annoyance comes over him like a wave. Since Peter had come back from the dead (long story) he was now a Beta, and  _Derek_ was the Alpha of the pack. Oh, shit …

“And you couldn’t have mentioned that over the phone?” Stiles growls, whirling around to glare at Peter.

“Why do you even have  _his_  number?” Derek barks before Peter could respond, and Stiles just sighs, ignoring the growl that Peter sends his nephew.

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“You know, I am right here.” Peter drawls, sitting back on the sofa, and appearing to be enjoying the drama greatly. Stiles almost expected him to get popcorn.

“Out.”

Stiles, about to say something along the lines of ‘screw you, I’m staying’ but is sincerely surprised instead when Peter just sighs, and stands up.

“Nice to see you Nephew, as always.” Peter drawls as he walks past Derek and Stiles, and heads over to the lift. “Stiles.”

Stiles ignores him in favour of gulping, and slowly edging his way towards the lift in case he had to make a fast exit.

“This is, your loft?” Stiles asks slowly, and carefully.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Ok.”

Derek stays silent for a few seconds, and Stiles idly wonders whether he was doing the ‘counting in your head so I don’t do something I regret’ thing that Stiles did a lot. It looked like it.

“You called  _Peter_ , and wanted to talk to him about the bite? Are you insane?”

“Jury’s out on that one.” Stiles retorts, throwing his hands up in a semblance of a shrug. “Did he call you?”

Derek winces for a second, and almost looks embarrassed. Almost. “No, he was already here. I just … listened in.”

Stiles tuts, and enjoys the ‘bitchface’ he gets from Derek in response. “Eavesdropping? Honestly Derek, that’s just bad manners.”

Derek sighs, and uncrosses his arms from where they had been placed over his chest. He casually walks over to where Peter had been sat, and sits down. Stiles stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do, until Derek rolls his eyes, and gestures and glares at the empty spot next to him on the sofa, with a look so annoyed that Stiles is surprised a hole wasn't burned into the fabric.

Stiles hides his smirk as he sits down on the sofa, as far away from Derek as he could possibly get.

“What’s going on Stiles?”

Stiles huffs, and looks anywhere but Derek’s face. “Why do you care?”

“Don’t be such a child.”

“I’m sixteen …” Stiles drawls back, unable to stop the sarcasm from dripping into his voice.

“Most sixteen year olds haven’t fought Supernatural creatures Stiles." Derek retorts, and Stiles can't even argue with that "Out with it.”

The young man sighs, suddenly feeling too tired to bother arguing any more. Besides, this was Derek he was talking to, not Scott. Technically, even though he was the Alpha, he didn't have anything to do with the drama with his best friend. Plus, just to add to his annoyances, his hand was hurting,  _again_.

“I went to see Scott …”

“I figured.” Derek interrupts.

“Are you going to let me talk?!” Stiles exclaims, but rather than being annoyed, if anything, Derek looks amused. “Shit, sorry.”

“Go on…”

Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. Derek just stay quiet, letting him.

“Scott doesn’t want me to part of the pack.” The words come out of Stiles’ mouth so quickly that he worries that they didn’t even make any sense. Derek though, nods.

“I know.”

Stiles, glares at his companion, unable to keep the venom dripping into his voice when he replies to the Alpha. “I figured that  _you_ of all people …”

“He’s trying to keep you alive.” Derek interrupts. “I agree, that it’s a real shitty way of doing it, but I understand where he’s coming from.”

Stiles sighs, and leans back into the sofa. Considering it looked like a giant grey block, it wasn’t actually that bad, comfort wise. Derek waits for Stiles to continue about his meeting with Scott, but suddenly, he remembers something that Derek had said in the woods.

“ _You_  said I wasn’t part of your pack.”

Derek lets out a breath, although he doesn’t sound annoyed. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise, and he can’t hold back the laugh that falls from his mouth.

“Woah, careful, that was almost an apology …”

“It was an apology, so accept it.” Derek growls back, and Stiles tries to make it look like he’s sincerely thinking about it for a few seconds, whilst the Alpha just glowers at him.

“Ok, accepted.”

Derek actually huffs a laugh at that, before looking out in front of him around the room, and avoiding Stiles’ eyes.

“You don’t need the bite Stiles.”

Stiles laughs, although he doesn’t find anything funny. “Yeah, ok …”

“I mean it.” Derek replies sincerely, before turning around to look at his companion directly in the eyes. “These kids, Isaac, Erica … even Scott, they weren’t really anything before the bite.”

“I’m sure they would love to hear you say that.” Stiles drawls back, deadpan.

“It’s true. They weren’t overly strong,  or smart …”

“Erica was brave.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, and Stiles feels himself blushing. “What?”

“Erica.” Stiles stammers, before placing his hands in his pockets and shifting around on the sofa. “She was really brave. Like, it was insane.”

“Ok.” Derek agrees, just watching.

“And Boyd, he is one of the kindest people you will ever meet, and selfless. Like, it’s ridiculous!”

“Isaac-“

“Nope, you can’t say anything bad about Isaac.” Stiles interrupts, smiling “Even without the whole ‘wolf’ thing, the guy is practically a puppy.”

Derek smiles then, although it is quick, and Stiles almost wonders if he imagined it. “Scott?”

“Scott is …” Stiles trails off, trying to find the right words to describe his best friend. “Not particularly smart.” He says slowly, and Derek nods very seriously.

“I’ll agree with that.”

“But he’s …”

“What?” Derek prompts, after Stiles had remained silent for a few seconds.

“He’s Scott.” Stiles supplies, with a small smile, and a shrug.

Stiles waits for a few seconds, expecting some sort of scathing or sarcastic remark form his companion, but Derek just smiles.

“And that’s why they like you.”

“What?”

“You Stiles. You’re the smartest out of all of them.”

“Lydia …”

“Not that kind of smart Stiles.” Derek interrupts, with a small shake of his head. “You knew something was off about Matt the minute you saw him. You didn’t trust Peter …”

“Still don’t.” Stiles puts in, before his hand suddenly throbs, and he can’t help the gasp of pain that comes out of his mouth.

“You ok?”

“Yeah my …” Stiles pulls his injured hand from his pocket, and knows his eyes widen with shock as he looks down and sees that it is bleeding,  _again._

“How long has it been like that?” Derek asks, frowning down at the bloodied bandage.

“Three days.” Stiles answers, not even bothering to be sarcastic. He was slightly too freaked out for that.

What the hell?! He was human sure, but this ... this was just unnecessarily painful, and was taking way to long to heal. As if Stiles needed anything else going on right now. 

“C’mon.” Derek says suddenly, standing from the sofa and walking over to pick up his black leather jacket that was resting on top of his unmade bed.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asks cautiously, not standing up himself.

“Hospital.”

“Nope, no way.” Derek opens his mouth, but Stiles just flails his uninjured arm, trying to shut him up “Melissa is there, and if I see Melissa, then we’re going to talk about Scott, and if I talk about Scott …”

“Alright, c’mon.” Derek interrupts, before rolling his eyes. “We’ll go and see Deaton.”

“Deaton, the vet?” Stiles asks as he stands, and he can’t help the suspicion look he sends Derek.

The Alpha turns, and smiles a sweet smile that Stiles knows must be completely sarcastic.

“It’s a vet, or me.”

Stiles' eyes widen, before he bolts out of the apartment in a flurry of flailing arms and limbs, exclaiming “Let’s go see Deaton!”

* * *

 Stiles sits in the passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro, and glares angrily at the clean leather dashboard.

“If my car has so much as a scratch when I get back …” Stiles mutters under his breath and Derek, for what must have been the hundredth time that day, rolls his eyes.

“I know it may not look like it, but it’s not a bad neighbourhood Stiles.” The Alpha retorts, but his comment doesn’t help to ease Stiles’ discomfort at leaving his beloved Jeep outside Derek’s building.

“You live there …” Stiles murmurs in response, earning himself a look from Derek that has him shutting up very quickly.

He taps his uninjured hand against his leg, and bites on his bottom lip.

“Why didn’t you say anything about it before? It looks bad.”

Stiles looks over towards Derek, before following his frowning gaze down to his hand. The bandage that he had put on his morning was now completely red, and only looked like it was barely managing to hold together. Stiles grimaces at the gruesome sight, and lifts his hand away from his jeans. Bloodstains were a bitch to get out of denim after all. He had learnt that the hard way.

“It was fine before.” He replies honestly, wondering if he had accidently hit, or even grazed his hand when he had been busy yelling at Scott, or talking to Derek.

But, wouldn’t he have noticed? Or at least, wouldn’t he have felt some pain?

“How did you even …” Derek just shakes his head, completely exasperated.

Stiles wonders if Derek really had to deal with human injuries when he was living with the Hale family. After all, if Stiles was a werewolf, he would have healed about five minutes after he had cut himself. Bandages and plasters were probably a strange sight for werewolves ... 

“Long story.” Stiles sighs in answer, and looks out of the window, before he suddenly sits up straighter, and shakes his head erratically. “No actually, boring story. Not even worth telling.”

Stiles lifts his hand experimentally, wincing from the pain, but still trying to see if the bandages were going to hold.

“If you get blood anywhere in this car, I will kill you.” Derek growls, and his eyes actually flash red for a second. Clearly, he loved his car nearly as much as Stiles loved his.

Stiles just smiles, and resists the urge to clap the man on the shoulder, or rub his hand around on the upholstery. The car was annoyingly clean. “There’s the angry Sourwolf we all know and love! I was worried for a minute …”

“Shut up.” Derek murmurs, before pulling into the parking lot of Beacon Hills Animal Clinic.

He sincerely hoped his dad didn’t find out about this. After all, how do you explain going to the vets with Derek Hale in the middle of the day when he didn’t even have a pet. Maybe he should invent one … Derek seemed like the kind of guy who would have a pet. Maybe a hamster …

Before he can stop himself, Stiles snorts, his thoughts amusing himself. Derek just rolls his eyes, before opening his door, and climbing out of his car.

Stiles is immediately distracted as they enter the building, as there is a small pet carrier resting on the counter, holding two tiny kittens. Derek growls at them.

“Dude not cool!” Stiles scolds, before turning back to the tiny cats. “You guys ignore the big mean werewolf …” Stiles coos in a babyish voice, making Derek growl again in response. 

The black kitten hisses at Derek in response, and Stiles can’t help but laugh. “That’s my girl! Hey, you guys up for adoption?”

“Actually they are.” Deaton says suddenly, as he enters the reception room from the back, smiling at Stiles as he coos and talks nonsense to the now semi relaxed animals.

“They wouldn’t last two days …” Derek grumbles, but Stiles ignores him.

Deaton smiles, before nodding to the two men. “Stiles, Derek.”

“Hi Alan.”

“Alan?” Stiles asks, looking up from the cats to gaze questioningly at Deaton. Derek rolls his eyes.

“Yes Stiles, Alan.” The man replies, and thankfully, he doesn’t look annoyed at the fact that Stiles didn’t even know his name. “How can I help you gentlemen today?”

“Stiles needs something looked at.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow. “By me?”

“It’s not anything ‘weird’.” Stiles starts, before Derek reaches over, and grabs Stile’s injured arm, narrowly avoiding his hand. He pulls him over to stand in front of Deaton, who was shaking his head at Derek, as if he were scolding him. “Ow ow ow! …”

Deaton takes one look at the bloody and bandaged hand, and sighs, before he turns to head back into the clinic.

“Follow me Stiles.”

“Dude! That hurt.” Stiles growls towards Derek, after the Alpha releases his arm from his ironclad grip.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Derek replies, and he sends one final look to the kittens, before following Deaton.

Stiles smiles at the pet carrier, before following the two men.

His smile immediately falls however, when Deaton signals that he should sit on one of his counters, and the vets slaps on a pair of gloves. Stiles gulps.

Derek sighs, clearly about to say something, but before he gets the satisfaction, Stiles marches over to Deaton, and swings himself up onto the counter. He regrets his decision when he puts weight on his hand, and he hisses in pain, whilst Derek sends him a look that makes him feel like an idiot.

“How long has this been bothering you Stiles?” Deaton asks, as he carefully unwraps the bandage.

“Three days.”

“And it’s been bleeding like this for those three days?” Deaton continues, and Stiles can hear the genuine surprise in his voice.

“Yep.” Deaton throws the soiled bandage in a small bin next to him, before picking up a small piece of cloth, and placing it on the cut. It burns, a lot. “Ow …”

“Sorry.” Alan apologises, but he still smiles.

“It doesn’t smell infected.” Derek says suddenly, from his spot on the other side of the room. Stiles gapes at him.

“Dude! Stop smelling me!”

“I’m helping.”

“It’s weird.” Stiles counters, before becoming distracted as Deaton puts some other strong smelling liquid on his hand.

“Stiles, how did this happen?”

“I fell.” The young man replies quickly, and Deaton actually manages to not roll his eyes at him.

“No, I mean, how exactly did this happen? Be precise.”

Stiles avoids looking down at his hand, and tries to stay focused on a poster with puppies on stuck to the far wall. “I was in the woods, climbing-“

“And falling.” Derek interrupts, and Stiles sees that the corner of his mouth is pulled up into a small smile.

“Shush.” Stiles chastises, still trying to ignore what Deaton was doing. “I was climbing, and then I got down, and when I put a hand out to catch myself, I cut my hand on a rock.”

“What kind of a rock?” Deaton asks, and Stiles can’t help but frown at the man. Luckily, he was focused on Stiles’ injury, and was not looking at his face.

“A rock, rock.” Stiles answers, before Derek sends him a warning look. “Sharp, grey, kinda dirty …”

“This is going to need stiches.” Deaton says suddenly, and way too casually.

He lowers Stiles’ hand onto his leg, before moving around the room, opening and closing cabinets and gathering up medial looking things.

“Wh-“

“Stiles doesn’t like needles.” Derek interrupts, and Stiles almost thinks he sounds like he was enjoying this. “Or blood.”

“Hey, I’m fine with blood. I said that I wouldn’t be fine with a ‘chopped off arm’.” Deaton, who had come back to stand next to Stiles, looks genuinely confused at that. “Long story.”

Deaton doesn’t press Stiles for any more information, but he just begins to unpack things from small boxes, and put on a clean pair of gloves. “Talk to Derek, that’ll help to distract you.”

“Distract me, or annoy me?” Stiles retorts, and just Derek smiles, sarcastically.

“Does it hurt?” Stiles frowns, but Derek just nods his head towards his injury. “Your hand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Deaton sighs, before picking up Stiles' hand, and beginning to sew.

Ten minutes later, Stiles has six stiches, hasn’t thrown up, and has learnt that Derek used to be captain of the basketball team when he was at Beacon Hulls. It had been a very eventful day to say the least.

“Stiles, I believe that the reason this injury is not healing, is because you’re not letting it.” Deaton says, after he has thrown away his bloodied gloves, and had carefully wrapped up Stiles’ hand.

“What?”

Alan crosses his arms over his chest. “Scott came into work today, and told me what happened between you both.”

“You mean, what’s happening. I haven’t forgiven him yet.” Stiles mumbles, carefully climbing down from the worktop, and landing on the floor.

“I think that you are purposely not allowing your body to heal.”

“Wh-“

“You mean, like we can do?” Derek interrupts, and Stiles frowns. “Purposely stop or halt the healing?”

“Exactly Derek.” Deaton replies, and smiles, but the Alpha stood next to him looks more confused than ever.

“But Stiles, is …”

“Human.” Stiles interrupts, jerking his head around to get the men’s attention, and holding up his injured hand, just to prove a point. “Stiles is human, very human.”

“Maybe not Stiles.” Deaton replies, sounding  _way_ too causal. Suddenly, the man sighs, before moving over to open a cupboard. He pulls out a large book, and hands it to Stiles, frowning when Stiles offers his injured hand. After collecting the book with his uninjured hand, Stiles looks down at the cover. “I was wondering when I would be giving this to you.”

“What is it?”

“A book.” Derek says from across the room, deadpan. Stiles and Deaton ignore him.

“It’s a book on Polish Mythology.”

Stiles looks up at Deaton, and sees that the man was smiling knowingly. “Oh.”

“I think this may have explanations and things of interest for you Stiles. Can you read Polish?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, but Google can.”

“Then I’ll leave this in your very capable hands.”

Stiles nods, and clutches the book to his chest. “Thanks, and not just for this …” Stiles adds, holding up his hand.

Deaton just smiles, and nods to both him and Derek, before leaving the room.

“Oh, and take some painkillers for that Stiles.” The Vet calls over his shoulder, and Stiles murmurs an agreement as the door swings shut.

“I’ll take you home …”

“What? But my car …”

“I’ll take you home, then go pick up your car.” Derek continues, already pulling out the keys to the Camaro.

“You’re going to drive my car to my house? How are you going to get home?”

“I’ll walk.”

“Of course you will.” Stiles mumbles, but considering the look Derek gives him, the Alpha heard him. “Thanks, but I’ll just drive myself.”

“Can you?” Derek asks, looking down at Stiles hand.

“I drove to you this morning.” Stiles retorts, already making his way out the room, and heading outside.

They pass Deaton in the reception, who was talking on the phone, so Stiles gives him a wave, before walking out into the parking lot.

Derek sighs from behind him. “Fine, but if you get into an accident, I’m going to tell your Dad it was your own fault for being so stubborn.”

“Ah yes, stubbornness. The Stilinski family legacy …”

“Shut up Stiles, and get in the car.”

Stiles climbs, or more like clambers awkwardly out his jeep, and immediately runs to his front door, careful not to fall over. He already had six stitches, and really didn’t want to add to that number because of his inherent clumsiness. The wet ground under his feet didn’t help either. It was raining heavily now in Beacon Hills, and was much darker than it usually was for the time of day. Stiles suddenly remembers the term ‘Pathetic Fallacy’ from his English Class, and then that causes him to remember he has even more school work to do. Well, at least he could distract himself.

Stiles notes the absence of his father’s cruiser as he turns to lock the front door, and can’t help but actually feel slightly relieved. He would no doubt want to ask about Scott, and Stiles, just really wasn’t in the mood to talk about Scott.

Stiles goes straight to the upstairs bathroom, not even bothering with stopping in the kitchen to try and find some food. After stumbling across the small bottle of painkillers, Stiles takes two, and tries to dry swallow them. It doesn’t go well, and after a few minutes of repeatedly spitting out, or dropping the pills in the sink, Stiles gives up trying to be all angsty and cool, and takes two new pills with a handful of cold water. Yeah, it was as cool as dry swallowing them, but sometimes, Stile preferred to be practical.

The bedroom is a mess when Stiles opens the door. His dirty clothes have collected in a heap next to his unmade bed, and his desk was covered in food packets, empty classes, and heavily highlighted notes. With a sigh, Stiles carefully places Deaton’s book on his bed, and walks over to his desk. Cleaning was better than being bored, he argued, before getting to work.  

About an hour later, Stiles hears the tell-tale sound of his Dads car, and immediately jumps up from his bedroom floor where he had been reading, and resumes his cleaning.

“Stiles?” The Sheriff calls from downstairs, just as Stiles hurriedly hides some of his dirty clothes under his bed.

“In here Dad!” Stiles calls back, before hearing his father’s footsteps as he ascends the staircase.

The Sheriff stands in the doorway of Stiles’ room, and actually sighs when he sees the mess before him. Stiles smiles and shrugs, and his father immediately eyes his newly bandaged hand as he does.

“Who fixed your hand?”

“Deaton.” Stiles explains, before holding up his hand to show his father. He was actually kinda proud that he hadn’t thrown up, or fainted “I got six stitches.”

“You went to Deaton?” The Sheriff asks incredulously. Stiles nods, confused. “Stiles, you know we do have health insurance.”

“I know!” The young man defends, turning back to his desk to clear off some empty Jolly Rancher wrappers. “It’s just, Melissa was at the hospital …”

The Sheriff sighs, obviously understanding his sons meaning.

“Did you manage to talk to Scott?”

Stiles scoffs, before turning to throw an empty water bottle in the trash can near the door. “I think ‘talk’ is the wrong word. It was more like ‘yell’. I yelled at Scott.”

“Stiles …” His father sighs in response.

“Hey, you told me I had every right to be mad!”

“And you do Stiles, but he’s also your best friend.”

Stiles opens his mouth, shocked, and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side.”

“I’m not taking his side Stiles. You’re my son, I’m always going to be on your side. Automatically.”

At that Stiles smiles, and pauses with a handful of dirty socks he was trying to pair. “Thanks Dad.”

The Sheriff smiles quickly, and steps into his sons bedroom, carefully avoiding some of the trash and clothes that were still on the floor. He and Stiles stand side by side over the bed, sorting through some clothes into colour piles.

“So, what was his excuse?” His father asks, before throwing Stile’s lacrosse jersey into the red pile of washing.

Stiles pauses, not really sure how he could explain to his father what was going on with him and Scott, without mentioning any Supernatural stuff.

Stiles instead, chooses to be as vague as possible. “He wanted to keep me safe.”

“Keep you safe?” The Sheriff questions, stopping his own task to turn and look at his son.

“Yeah. He thinks that what he’s doing with the p- with the group,” Stiles quickly recovers, but his father didn’t seem to have notice the slip. “He think it’s too dangerous for me, and that I’ll end up getting hurt or something.”

The Sheriff looks even more confused than before, but also, slightly angry. Stiles ignores his father’s gaze, and instead focuses on folding a pair of shorts.

“What the heck is he doing with them?”

“Honestly Dad, I don’t even know.”

“Do you want me to find out?”

“Dad!” Stiles exclaims, although, he is a little curious what would happen if he said yes.

“Hey, I’m the Sheriff.” His father defends, smiling, and he even sounded slightly smug. “And you can’t tell me that you’re not the least bit worried after Scott told you that they were doing something ‘dangerous’.”

“Scott’s not a total idiot. I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Stiles grumbles under his breath, but his father just smiles even wider.

“Now who’s defending him …”

“I’m not defending him!”

The Sheriff laughs, and shakes his head. Stiles can’t help the own smile that falls onto his face. After all, his father was right, Scott  _was_ his best friend. He doubted that he could be mad at him for ever. May be just for another week …

“What’s that?”

Stiles looks up from his pile of perfectly folded clothes, and notices that his dad had unearthed the old book from beneath a heap of dirty laundry.

“Oh, it’s from Deaton.”

“The vet gave you a book?” The Sheriff asks, before frowning down at the leather bound book, and tilting his head. “A polish book?”

“Hey, can you read polish?” Stiles asks, somewhat excitedly. That would make his like so much easier.

“No, but Google has a translate-“

“Already on it Dad.” Stiles interrupts, waving his hand in the direction of his open computer.

His father smiles, before opening the book, and quickly flicking through a few ancient looking pages. “What is it about anyway?”

“History, mythology and stuff.”

“Polish mythology?”

“Yeah.” Stiles replies, but he notices that his father was frowning at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” The Sheriff defends, before looking back down at the large book in his hands. “I just didn’t really think there was  _that_ much to tell.”

Stiles laughs, and his father places the book over on his desk. His dad did have a point. That was a huge book for such a small country…

“You going back to the station?

The Sheriff nods, and makes his way back over to the doorway, easier now, as most of the things that had been littering it were no longer on the floor. “Yeah, shouldn’t be too late though. It’s just paperwork.”

“Okay.”

“Stiles, if you and Scott can’t talk to each other, you need to at least call.” The Sheriff says suddenly, and sounding much more concerned that he had earlier. “You can’t just ignore each other. School starts up again soon.”

“I know Dad.” Stiles sighs, and his father nods, apparently mollified.

“See you later.”

“See ya …”

Stiles listens as his Dad climbs down the stairs, opens and closes cupboards in the kitchen, obviously collecting a snack, before walking outside and climbing into his car.

Stiles’ room looked infinitely better, and the young man idly wondered how it had got so messy in just a few days. He had barely been in it after all.

Picking up his mobile phone from his desk, Stiles clicks on the smiling face of his friend, before holding the phone up to his ear. He answers on the second ring.

“Hey Danny.” Stiles greets, smiling himself.

“Hey Stiles, everything ok?”

Stiles’ smile gets even wider. When was the last time any of his other friends had asked him that when he called them. “Yeah, yeah everything’s fine.” Danny murmurs an affirmative, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Listen, how are you doing on the Calculus homework?”

“Honestly …” Stiles nods, even though Danny couldn’t see him. “It just looks like Klingon to me. I’m usually ok with this stuff but-“

“I know right!” Stiles exclaims, interrupting his friend. “It’s like they want to kill our spirits or something.”

“Or, the more likely, they’re trying to keep us  _really_ occupied with school work when we’re supposed to be on a break.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, before shaking his head dramatically. He could almost  _feel_ Danny smiling down the phone.

“Danny, you’re a smart guy.”

“Well thank you.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Oh, that reminds me, Scott called me earlier.”

And just like that, Stiles’ smile falls from his face, and his heart speeds up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. He wanted to know if you were ok? He seemed to think I would know.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh, although, even to him, it doesn’t sound genuine. “Hey dude, you know everything. Everyone knows that.”

“God, stop with the flattery. I already told you I can’t help with your Calculus.” Danny grumbles, deadpan, and Stiles does genuinely laugh at that.

“Sorry.”

“Why was Scott looking for you anyway?” Danny asks, and Stiles can hear rustling on the other side of the phone. Was Danny reading? Studying?

“We had a fight.” Stiles answers, before quickly trying to change the topic of conversation. “Oh, did you see Jackson yet?”

“No.”

Stiles can’t help but sound surprised when he replies. “Really?”

“He emailed me this morning saying he was back, but that was it.”

“Just one email?” Stiles asks, and Danny scoffs down the line.

“Yeah, I mean he  _literally_  just emailed me,” Stiles hears some more rustling, and then some clicking, indicating that Danny had grabbed his laptop. “’Hey, I’m back.’” Danny reads, before laughing.

“Wow Jackson, that was almost a full sentence.” Stiles mutters, and Danny laughs again. “You mad?” Stiles asks. Danny wasn’t the kind of person to get mad like he did, Stiles knew that, but he still had feelings, and was human.

“Mad?”

“Yeah. Your best friend goes away on vacation …”

“It was a camping trip Stiles, it was hardly like they went to Hawaii.” Danny interrupts, and Stiles can’t help but bite his lip to stop himself from making a smart ass retort. After all, he was mad at Scott, not Danny.

“Still, your best friend goes camping without you, and doesn’t even  _try_ to get you an invite.”

“I’m guessing this is what you and Scott argued about.” Danny replies, and Stiles flusters for a few seconds. “Stiles …”

“Who said we argued?”

“I did.” Danny replies simply, and Stiles sighs. “Stiles, Scott was really upset when he called me.”

“I have a phone, he could have called me.” Stiles argues, and Danny seems to agree with him for a few seconds, before he replies.

“He seemed to be under the impression that you would just hang up on him.”

“Huh, he’s smarter than I thought he was.” Stiles mumbles, before grabbing a loose paper clip that was on his desk, and playing with it to distract himself.

Danny laughs again, and despite his annoyance, Stiles smiles. Man, he liked Danny.

“Anyway, Coach is holding a practice tomorrow. He’s inviting a few freshmen as well. It’s supposed to be like a ‘taster’ session.”

Stiles closes his eyes, and pulls his face into a grimace. “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re going to tell me …”

“Everyone on the team has to be there.”

Stiles throws the paperclip onto the table, and it bounces off immediately, landing on his newly cleaned carpet. “Damn it.”

“Hey, it’ll be fun. Plus,” Stiles can hear the amusement in his friends voice as he talks, and that gets him to pay close attention. “Scott and Jackson will be there. If they’re on the opposite team, we can tackle them and throw balls at their faces. That should make us feel better.”

Stiles smiles down the phone, although, it’s mostly just amusement at Danny. If anyone was going to get bruises going up against Jackson and Scott, it would probably end up being Stiles and Danny, and not the other way around.

“I thought you said you weren’t mad …”

“I’m not. But I’m never going to turn down the opportunity to give Jackson a bruise.”

Stiles laughs, in response, before Danny joins is.

Its then that Stiles realises he hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. Maybe hanging out with Danny more wouldn’t be so bad. “In that case …”He takes a deep breath, pretending to be contemplating, but really, he knew what he was going to say. “Danny, I will be seeing you tomorrow.”

Danny huffs a laugh, “Bye Stiles.”

Stiles hangs up, and puts his phone back down onto the table. He sits forward in his chair, intent to start on his work, when he suddenly notices that he had a choice to make.

The book Deaton had given him was next to his phone, which was sat like it was almost waiting for him to pick it up, and call Scott. On the other side of the desk, was his Calculus homework.

It only takes Stiles a few seconds to choose. He grabs the book, and opens it to the first page.

Danny was right, the Calculus work really did look like Klingon …


	6. Chapter 6

**Wednesday 6th April**

Stiles decides that Coach’s whistle is too loud. _Way_ too loud.

Usually it was just a little annoying; shrill and much too squeaky. But today, it was _so_ much more annoying, almost painful. You would stop and pay attention not because Coach just blew the whistle, but because you wanted him to just stop making that god awful sound.

Today, Stiles wanted to kill Coach, steal the whistle, throw it into Mount Doom, and then throw himself in so there was never a chance that he could hear it ever again. 

It was Wednesday morning, 9am, and Stiles was at school during the holidays, and being yelled at … Great.

“Stilinski!"

Someone bumps into Stiles, nearly causing him to fall onto the muddy Lacrosse field.

"Wake up! Move, c’mon!” Coach yells, whilst waving his arms around in his general direction. 

As Stiles blinks himself awake on the pitch, Danny runs past him holding his stick and the ball, and smiling. Stiles wanted to hit that smile off his face. After all, it was because of Danny that he was even here in the first place, and not in his warm cocoon of a bed.

He had valiantly tried to get out of playing first line by showing Coach his bandaged hand, complete with stitches and grimacing every now and again as he moved it just to add to the effect, but that had only gotten him an eye roll from the man, and a whistle blown in his face.

Scott, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson and a few of the older players from the team were sat on the bench, giving the freshmen the chance to play with the, how had Coach put it, less ‘aggressive and volatile’ players so they could warm up and get to grips with the game. Stiles thinks that Coach was just trying to make sure the youngsters won, and didn’t get a ball thrown into their face or a Lacrosse stick jabbed into their ribs. That was Jackson’s speciality, Stiles had learnt that the hard way.

About an hour into the game, Danny, Stiles and Greenberg had managed to get three goals, even though most of the goal scorers on the team weren’t even playing.

Well, Danny had scored two goals, Greenberg had managed to drop the ball so it had rolled into the goal, and Stiles had just spent the entire time trying not to fall asleep standing up. He was mostly failing at that ...

Coach blowing his whistle though, shocks him into full alert mode. 

“Alright, take five team!”

The Freshmen immediately run over to the side of the pitch, grabbing bottles of water and energy drinks, whilst Stiles casually walks over to Coach.

He notices that Danny had ignored Jackson’s wave, and instead had gone to sit some other guys from the team. And he said he wasn’t even mad …

“You actually awake Stilinski?” Coach jokes as he approaches “Or are you just sleep walking?”

Stiles ignores the comment, even though, he wasn't even really sure he  _wasn't_ sleeping walking. 

“Hey Coach, I have a great idea, if you want to boost morale …”

Stiles doesn’t know whether it is because of his wide grin, or the fact that Coach looks just as ready to go back to bed as Stiles, but he doesn’t blow the whistle in his face once again. Instead he nods his head, and looks intrigued.

“I’m listening.”

It takes Stiles just a few seconds to share his genius idea, and afterwards Coach nods, and blows his whistle to signal the rest of the team. Stiles is so happy that he doesn’t even bother to be annoyed about it.

He jogs over to Danny who had just come back onto the pitch, smirking. “What are you so pleased about? Coach taking you off the field or something?”

Stiles just keeps smirking.

“Whittemore, McCall … get over here!” Coach calls, and both men jump up from the bench, and make their way over to the red faced man.

Isaac and Boyd get up, ready to follow, but Coach just gestures them away. Both Beta’s turn to look questionably towards Stiles, who just ignores them, in favour of watching Scott and Jackson. This was going to be awesome ... 

“Yes Coach?” Scott says, but Jackson looked less than pleased to be called up.

“You two, stand over there, leave the sticks at the side of the pitch. You won’t need them.”

Scott and Jackson share a look, and frown. “Coach?”

Finstock suddenly blows his whistle, causing both men to wince. Clearly, having awesome Supernatural hearing wasn’t awesome all of the time. “Move it!”

Jackson and Scott jog over to the centre of the pitch, leaving their sticks like Coach had said, before turning back to face the team and looking worried. Stiles could barely contain himself from fist pumping the air. Sweet, sweet revenge …

“What did you do?” Danny questions with a raised eyebrow, as the rest of the curious team begin to make their way forward, onto the pitch and closer to Scott and Jackson.

“Don’t worry, they’re big guys. They can take it.”

Danny frowns, before he suddenly seems to realise what was going to happen, as Coach begins to pour a line of balls in front of the teenagers. He tries to look disapproving, but Stiles can see his amusement on his face. “You are pure evil …”

“I know.”

Coach blows his whistle again, and turns to the group of young teens who were all huddled together away from the rest of the older team.

“Freshmen!” Coach calls, and the kids immediately look intrigued. Scott and Jackson though, less so. “This game isn’t just about knocking people over, and I know that sucks, but it’s the truth …”

“Scott’s looking at you.” Danny whispers, and Stiles turns to see that he was in fact, looking at Stiles closely. “And, Jackson’s glaring.”

Stiles looks over at Jackson then, and can’t help the large grin that grows onto his face. He looked like he was ready to dive on Stiles …

“What’s up with those two?” Stiles hears someone ask from behind him, and he turns to see a pair of freshmen looking worriedly towards Boyd and Isaac.

Stiles hadn’t really thought about the Beta’s reaction. Oops …

“You are going to pick up these balls, and throw them as hard as you can at these two heroic volunteers.”

Jackson suddenly stops glaring at Stiles, and turns instead, to glare at Coach. Next to Stiles, Danny laughs, loud enough to be heard by the team. Isaac though, growls. Stiles considers himself, and the rest of the werewolves, lucky that everyone was too busy listening to coach to notice.

“What? …” Scott asks cautiously, his eyes suddenly growing wide as he sees the eager freshmen moving to collect their Lacrosse sticks.

Stiles was going to Hell, but right now, he really couldn’t care less.

“Think of this as punishment for handing your homework in late last week.” Coach grumbles back to the boys, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

“We told you Coach, we had-“

Coach blows his whistle so hard, it almost flies out of his mouth. Scott and Jackson reach up to touch their ears tenderly, as do Boyd and Isaac.

“Hey Coach, can we have a go as well?” Danny asks casually, and now it’s his turn to get a fiery glare from his best friend.

“Aim to bruise people! I want to see some powerful balls here …” Coach calls, getting a few snickers from the team in return.

Stiles knows it won’t really hurt Scott and Jackson, after all, they were built like brick walls. But, seeing the looks on the Freshmen’s faces, and how eager they are, Stiles almost feels guilty. Almost.

“Ready …”

Stiles almost feels like he’s at a shootout, but with more anger, and less cowboy hats …

Coach blows the whistle once again, and all Hell breaks loose.

To their credit, neither Jackson nor Scott try and dodge or move out the way of the flying balls, instead choosing to just stand their ground, and hope and pray that the freshmen have terrible aim. No such luck. As bad as they were at tackling, these kids were pretty good and throwing stuff …

Stiles actually laughs out loud when a ball just bounces off Jackson’s head, as the man just stands there, glaring at the kid who threw it.

Isaac and Boyd were burning a hole in the back of Stiles’ head, they were staring at him so fiercely. Stiles tries to ignore them, which was pretty easy, considering what was going on in front of him.

Suddenly, Coach blows the whistle.

Before Stiles, and Danny, can get disappointed that their entertainment was over however, Finstock gesture towards them.

“Ok kids, let’s show you how it’s done. Team!”

The entire Lacrosse team line up then, smiling, or looking apologetic at the two people before them. Everyone still grabs a ball though, even Isaac and Boyd.

Stiles wonders why, but then he spots Scott, looking fiercely towards the Beta’s, almost like he was ordering them to do something in his head. They don’t look pleased about it, but move like everyone else.

“Ready …”

Stiles tries to choose who to throw the ball towards. Hitting Jackson would be hilarious, but Stiles did enjoy having all the bones in his body whole and not cracked in two. Scott though …

As funny as it would be, and he had done it before, Stiles couldn’t help but worry that he’d feel guilty about it after wards.

As Coach blows the whistle, Stiles just stops thinking, and throws.

And misses, spectacularly. The ball rolls towards Jackson, and just nudges his foot.

“Stilinski! What the Hell was that?! And this was your idea …”

Stiles gulps as the entire Pack turn to glare at him, and he swears he sees their eyes change colour. He was dead.

“Switch. You and Lahey to the centre of the pitch. Move it!”

Danny laughs, and Stiles manages to get in a quick punch on the arm before he moves. Isaac immediately runs forward, eager Stiles thinks, to take Scott’s place, but Stiles groans, and drags his feet as he walks to the centre of the pitch.

Coach blows his whistle, and the group falls silent. “Get some power behind those balls!”

“Ok, he’s got to be doing this on purpose.” Stiles  murmurs, and Isaac just turns to frown at him. “You know, all the ‘ball’ comments? It’s like he-“

Stiles suddenly becomes a bit too busy to talk, instead, he reaches down to try and guard his most sensitive area. Jackson though, has worryingly good aim …

After a torturous few minutes, Coach calls time, and blows his whistle. Someone throws one last ball after the whistle though, and Stiles looks up from where he was clutching his throbbing leg to see Boyd wink at him.

“Whittemore! You and Boyd take the Freshmen to the locker room. The rest of the team, pack up the equipment, then you’re free to go. Move it!”

“Thanks for that Coach …” Stiles mumbles, as he limps past the man to collect his things from the bench.

“See you next week Stilinksi.” Coach replies, smiling.

Stiles sits, or more like falls, onto the bench, and immediately begins to pull off his padding. Much use it did …

“Feel better now?” Scott asks, and Stiles jumps in surprise, before turning to see that Scott was stood looking over him, not at all battered or bruised.

“Much.” Stiles replies, looking back down at his equipment, and trying not to wince as he moves. Man, those balls were hard.

“Good.” Scott sits down next to him, and pulls out a bottle of water.

Stiles nods down to his leg, seeing a small bruise that was beginning to form. “You alright?”

Scott looks surprised for a moment, before following Stiles’ gaze, and noticing the bruise himself. “I’ll heal.” The man replies, before smiling.

“I’m sorry.”

Scott raises an eyebrow, “Are you?”

“No, not really.” Stiles responds immediately, packing away some of his padding into his large bag that was sitting next to his feet.

“I think I deserved that.”

Stiles smiles, but tries to hide out as he bends down to change his shoes. “Yep.”

“Stiles?” Stiles doesn’t look up, but just waits for Scott to continue speaking. “I really am sorry.”

Suddenly, Stiles’ throat becomes tight. He can hear people moving around him, and not wanting to cry, he just nods, and smiles up at Scott quickly. “Ok.”

“Can we talk? After practice?”

“I can’t.” Stiles doesn’t really know why he says it, but Scott doesn’t seem to detect any lie, as he just nods.

“Ok.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Scott repeats, with a wide smile. Suddenly, Isaac calls his name, and he stands from the bench, collecting his bag “I’ll text you?”

“Sure.”

Stiles holds up a hand, waving quickly as Scott walks off the pitch with Isaac, no doubt heading to find where Boyd and Jackson went. As Stiles stands up, he notices Danny walk back onto the pitch, looking annoyed.

“Hey Danny, you need a ride home?”

Danny sighs, and smiles. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be awesome.” Stiles nods in response. “Jackson’s being a jackass.”

“When is he not?”

“I don’t get why he’s mad at me. It was your idea.”

Stiles bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, but it doesn’t really work. “Yeah, but you laughed.”

“Everyone laughed, even Coach.”

Stiles and Danny laugh as the head to Stiles’ jeep, talking about the latest Supernatural episode, and arranging to do something at the weekend.

It was different, but not bad.

Stiles leans forward from his spot in the drivers seat of his Jeep, and turns up the heating as Danny continues to speak. It was freezing, inside the car and outside. It wasn't unheard of for the temperature to drop to around 50 degrees in Beacon Hills at this time of year, but Stiles couldn't remember a time where it had been  _this_  cold during spring break. Granted, Stiles had spent his last few spring breaks in his bedroom with Scott keeping him company, watching television shows under the comfort of his massive duvet. 

Danny doesn't seem to be as affected as Stiles however, as the young man was laughing and shaking his head, completely disagreeing with the point Stiles had made moments before. 

“Stiles, the Angels suck! No one likes the Angels.” Danny argues, and Stiles manages to contain his amusement to look personally wounded by his companions comment.

“Yeah, but they have the best powers!”

“No they don’t.” Danny replies simply, shaking his head and looking out of his passenger side window.

“Ok, you know what, let’s change the conversation.” Stiles says, tapping the steering wheel slightly as he drives. “Because clearly, you’re not going to bow to my Angelic excellence.”

“Shut up …” Danny grumbles, but when Stiles turns his head to look at his friend, Danny is smiling, and appearing to be more amused than annoyed.

Stiles smiles in return, enjoying the friendly banter that he knew wasn’t actually going to turn into a real argument, or a conversation about something Supernatural. Although, they were talking about the  _show_  Supernatural … Huh, the irony.

“Ok, so you prefer Castiel, but guess who I prefer.”

Danny frowns, obviously not used to Stiles yet, and his habit of erratically changing topics in conversations. “Out of who?” The man questions. 

“Anyone on the show. I have a top three.” Stiles replies, gleefully. 

“Why doesn’t that surprise me …” Danny grumbles, but Stiles sees that his friend is still smiling.

“C’mon. Guess.” Stiles whines, and just to add to the effect, he pouts slightly, and does his best ‘puppy dog eyes’. After all, it was a long drive to Danny’s, and he was already feeling a bit angsty after being sat down for a while in his car. “You  _have_  to guess.”

“Alright …” Danny concedes with a sigh, before frowning. “Meg.” Danny guesses, and he looks confident.

Stiles though, raises an eyebrow. “Which one?”

“The second one, the brunette.”

“Nope.”

Danny watches Stiles closely for a few seconds, just checking to see whether or not he was lying, but when Stiles’ expression doesn’t change, he sighs. “Okay …” Stiles waits for his second guess, enjoying the little game. “Charlie?”

“Hey, you got one!” Stiles exclaims, reaching over to quickly give Danny a pat on the shoulder. “Ok, Charlie. Keeping guessing.”

“Isn’t she a lesbian?” Danny asks, amused.

Stiles sighs dramatically, before clutching a hand over his chest. “Yeah, but I can still be in love with her. Think of it as the ultimate bromance …”

“I’m starting to regret getting in this car with you Stiles.” Danny murmurs in response, looking over at Stiles like he was the weirdest thing he had ever seen.

“Dude, don’t be such a spoilsport. Two more. Go!”

“Ruby? Either one.”

“Nope.”

“Erm … Jo?”

“Nope. Although, she is pretty awesome.” Stiles replies, thinking about the blonde, gun wielding character, and strangely getting reminded of Allison. He hadn’t talked to her in a while …

“Hannah?” Danny asks suddenly, and Stiles quickly snaps back into the car, and shakes his head. “What was that other Angel called? …” Stiles knows, but keeps quiet, just letting Danny think to himself. “Anna! Is it Anna?”

“Nope.”

“Wait, it’s not …” Danny squints at Stiles suspiciously, and Stiles tries to keep his expression natural. “Dude, do you have a thing for Mary Winchester?!” Danny exclaims, laughing.

“The younger one, not the one who got killed.” Stiles replies, raising his voice, and trying to sound convincing. “That would be weird.”

“Huh, I pegged you as a Ruby or Hannah type guy.”

“What can I say man, I’m an enigma.” Stiles jests, turning back to the road, and slowing to a stop at a red light.

“Ok, one more …” Danny mumbles, and Stiles nods. “Dude, I don’t think there’s anymore girls on the show.”

Stiles opens his mouth to retort, but suddenly, he becomes slightly shy, and his reply comes out more like a whisper.

“Who said it was a girl …”

Danny, who had been smiling widely, turns to his companion, just as he quickly drives across the road, now that the light had turned green.

“What?” Danny questions.

“What?” Stiles repeats, just as quickly.

“Stiles …” He narrows his eyes, and Stiles shifts in his seat. “Are you … Bi?”

“Do you want to put some music on? I have that new albu-“

“Stiles, are you Bi?” Danny interrupts, although not angrily, and he barely raises his voice. “Seriously it’s ok if you want to tell me.”

Stiles sighs, and leans further back into his car seat. “I didn’t even tell Scott.”

“Really?” Danny exclaims, sounding genuinely shocked. “Why not?”

“I dunno. We haven’t really been talking to each that much recently.”

“So, this is recent then?” Danny questions, and Stiles nods.

He wonders whether his friend was thinking about the time he had joked that he would have sex with Stiles, but that was months ago.

“I guess.” Stiles replies, with a shrug.

Danny nods, and sends a reassuring smile to his friend. “Awesome. What CD’s do you have?”

And just like that Stiles realises that he has just come out to someone for the first time, and he’s not bruised, being yelled at, or being made fun of. He smiles wider than ever, before reaching forward, and playing his new All Time Low CD. He was in a very good mood.

* * *

Danny had to describe the way back to his house when Stiles got in the general area, as despite knowing him for several years, Stiles had never been there himself.

When they were partnered together on projects, they had always met at Stiles', with Danny telling him it was because his house was bigger. Stiles didn't mind, but couldn't help but feel slightly guilty about never visiting. He had a feeling though, that this wouldn't be the last time he would be driving to Danny's, and so made sure to pay attention to where he was going.

Stiles excitedly agrees to hang out with Danny again the upcoming Saturday afternoon, giving them both plenty of time to finish their school work, and deal with there so called ‘best friends’.

On the ride back to his house, Danny animatedly had explained to Stiles how he is planning on ignoring Jackson completely until he gets an apology. A  _real_  apology; he had made that distinction pretty clear. Stiles couldn’t blame him, considering it was Jackson after all. The guy never said sorry, even to his own Alpha or pack mates. It didn’t seem like there was any hope for Danny, but of course, Stiles didn’t say that.

Danny had said thank you as Stiles pulled up outside his building, and had left Stiles’ car just after lunch time, promising to text him later.

Stiles drives home listening to some very loud music, just because he felt like it.

Danny had asked what Stiles was going to do about Scott, but Stiles wasn’t really sure what to do about Scott.

He had agreed to speak with him tomorrow, but still hadn’t replied to the text he had gotten just after he had got into his Jeep with Danny.

When Stiles gets home, he immediately heads into the kitchen to grab some food, and ignores the buzzing in his pocket telling him someone was calling.

He had a great day with Danny, and really didn’t feel like ruining it by getting into an argument, and  _that’s_ exactly what would happen if he spoke to Scott.

Stiles phone buzzes again as he sits at his bedroom desk, and realising that it was just a message, he pulls out his phone. To his surprise, it’s the exact same message he had received a few hours before, just sent again at a later time.

_Scott: Hey man. Do u wanna meet @ mine 2morrow morn? 11am?_

Stiles stares at his phone, wondering why he couldn’t just send a quick reply saying that 11am was fine, or even that he was busy and they should arrange for another time. He wasn’t busy, but Stiles was still considering letting Scott stew in his guilt for a little while longer.  

He had stopped feeling just angry, and now didn’t really know how he felt. He appreciated what Scott was trying to do, but as Derek had said, he didn’t really get why he had gone about it the way he did. If he had just explained to Stiles about the Pack and the Omega, Stiles thinks he would have been okay with it.

He still would have gone of course, but still, he would have appreciated his friends concern.

Instead of staring at his homework and notes for the rest of the day, Stiles decides to try and do something useful, and so grabs his trainers and backpack, and heads back out into the woods.

* * *

Stiles actually finds that he enjoys jogging. It wasn’t running.

Running usually meant Coach was annoyed, he was just about to miss his curfew, some angry Lacrosse player was going to tackle him, or he was in danger of being ripped apart. Literally.

But now, he could play music, take his time, and amazingly, he could actually stop whenever he wanted to.

Stiles finds a good place to sit in the woods, and decides to take a quick break. Quick being the operative word, because his Dad would be home in a few hours. The Sheriff would no doubt want to hear what happened at practice, and Stiles had to think of a way of telling the story without making it sound like he got Coach to throw balls at Scott and Jackson, and then got hit himself with balls. Multiple times. He could practically feel the bruises forming …

Stiles is so distracted by putting away his IPod that he doesn’t really notice that the sound of cracking wood he was hearing  wasn’t actually coming from him.

Stiles shouldn’t be surprised to see Derek in the woods, after all, it seemed like lurking behind trees and growling were two of the guys main hobbies.

But still, Stiles is only human, and so jumps about half a mile into the air when the Alpha appears next to him.

“Here to make fun of me again?” Stiles huffs, before standing up from the floor of the woods, and brushing off some dirt and leaves. Or at least, he hoped it was just dirt.

He had always done his own laundry, and was glad at that moment that he did. He had no idea otherwise how he would explain all of the strange stains from the past week to his father …

“I didn’t make fun of you before.” Derek argues, moving around the large rock Stiles had been sat on.

He was wearing his typical black on black ensemble, complete with leather jacket and boots. It was almost as if a model had snuck away from an on location photoshoot …

Stiles realises he is just staring, and so quickly shakes his head, and tries to make it look like he was just busy cleaning himself down, and got distracted.

“That’s true, you just stared.” Stiles doesn’t miss the irony in his comment, but just tries instead to look smug.

“And saved you from breaking your neck.” Derek growls back, and Stiles nods his head jerkily, before bending to pick up his bag.

“Yeah, and that to.”

Stiles moves around Derek, and starts to walk back towards the main road, and his house. To his surprise, Derek walks alongside him, and doesn’t even look annoyed as he does.

“You’ve been out here a lot recently …” Derek muses, frowning down at his boots.

“Was there a question somewhere in there? I think there was.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “ _Why_?” The Alpha questions, putting way more emphasis on the word than necessary, like he was talking to a very small and distracted child.

“Why have I been in the woods?” Stiles asks, and Derek nods. “Should I not be?”

“Can you just answer a question like a normal person?” Derek growls, suddenly moving forward and stopping in front of Stiles, making the young man almost run into him.

Instead of angrily replying, Stiles smiles slightly, and tilts his head at the Alpha.

“You’re very growly today.”

“Growly?” Derek questions, in his deep monotone.

“Yeah. You know, all … Alpha angsty.” Stiles mutters, before moving around Derek, and continuing to walk through the woods.

“Do you ever use _real_  words when you speak?”

“They’re real words!” Stiles exclaims, turning to look at Derek over his shoulder. “And real instead of what, fake words? What the Hell are fake words?”

“Are you dating Danny?” 

The questions comes from Derek so quickly, that it barely sounds like individual words. Stiles though, who was a fast talker himself most of the time, hears every single word. 

Stiles freezes, unsure whether he should just bolt into the trees and avoid the question, but then, realising that Derek could probably outrun a cheetah, he turns slowly.

“Wh-“

Just as Stiles takes a step forward, his foot catches in a tree root, and he begins to fall forward. Derek though, with his ridiculously quick reflexes, manages to grab hold of the human’s shoulders and right him before his face hits the floor.

“You know, you are the clumsiest human I have ever seen.” Derek grumbles, shaking his head as he moves his hands away from Stiles.

The now righted, and blushing human, just blinks. 

“Must not have seen a lot of humans …” Stiles murmurs, before shaking his head, and turning to head back to his house.

Derek doesn’t say anything else, even goodbye, and he just lets Stiles leave. Stiles suddenly realises with some amusement that he was technically running away, even though he was just walking.

He wonders as he hears Derek walk away, whether he should call Danny, and tell him about his little encounter. He was sure his friend would love it ... 


	7. Chapter 7

**Thursday 7th April**

Stiles used to love Google. Notice the word, _used_.

In the past, it had helped him solve equations, figure out what that really weird and long word his teacher had used today meant, and occasionally, it had even managed to help Stiles research werewolves and other weird supernatural stuff.

I mean, on what other website could you type the words, ‘weird bleeding wolfsbane’, and get the cure that ended up saving Boyd’s arm. Not Bing my friend, Stiles was sure of that.

Now though, he wanted to never see that stupid website, or even that stupid word ever again.

Stiles was exhausted, but still continued to scroll endlessly on his computer, and read the long passages of text that were beginning to blur into one huge colour.

At any other time of the day, the research Stiles was doing would have been awesome, but considering the time, and how long Stiles had actually been researching, he was completely over it.

The book Deaton had given him was huge. So much so, that he had almost been unable to bring it home with him when his hand had just been stitched up and bandaged. Derek had helped him manhandle it home, and Stiles was grateful at the time. Now, he wished he hadn’t bothered. He hated this stupid book.

It was thick, heavy, old, and it had a really weird smell. But the way Deaton’s face had lit up when had handed it to Stiles had him think it was important; special even. The man had said something about wondering when he was going to give it to Stiles, and so Deaton must have had it for a while.

It was because of all this that Stiles was still, at 3am, reading and translating the stupid thing, and not throwing it outside in the rain.

His father had been home when Stiles had gotten back from his jaunt in the woods, and hadn’t commented, but only rolled his eyes as his son’s filthy appearance, and muttered something about laying the table.

Stiles had done exactly that, then sat and eaten with the Sheriff without mentioning Scott, Danny or even Derek. Some Deputy was leaving Beacon Hills soon, and his father was more busy than usual because of it. It gave he and Stiles plenty to talk about at the table, and they both mused at who the replacement would be.

That was hours ago, and now, Stiles really wanted to go to bed.

Stiles couldn’t though, and it was kinda his own fault. Adderall wasn’t so good for helping you sleep after all.

After getting back from the woods, Stiles had experienced a mild breakdown.

He didn’t know what to do about Scott, couldn’t really understand his sudden friendship with Danny, and Derek had basically asked him if he was gay, whilst saving him from landing on his face, again.

It was a weird day, and to top it off, Stiles had realised that he hadn’t even looked at the book Deaton had given him, let alone started to read it. He was trying to rectify that now.

Just as Stiles gets to the end of the page, he realises that there is one more paragraph he needs to check through, and sighs quietly, before clicking through, and accepting his fate. He would never leave this desk chair ...

Stiles’ phone suddenly starts vibrating against his desk, and he quickly moves to pick it up, not wanting the annoying buzzing sound to wake up his dad. He doesn’t even bother to check the caller ID before answering. Hanging up on Scott might actually make him feel better after all.

“Hello?” Stiles murmurs quietly down the line, whilst hovering his phone over the red button, ready to end the call at any moment.

“Stiles, its Allison.”

Stiles stops for a second, wondering if this was a weird trick, but he doesn’t hear anyone else on the line, or even in the background.

“Allison?” He questions warily, and sounding somewhat confused. Stiles couldn’t even remember the last time he and Allison had talked over the phone.

“Yeah, sorry for calling you randomly like this, but I kinda need to talk to you.” Allison replies, and Stiles can almost hear her smile.

Stiles sighs, and sits up from where he was leaning on his cluttered and messy desk. “Let me guess, it’s about Scott?”

Allison is quiet for a moment, and Stiles wonders what she was thinking. “Yes, amongst other things …”

“Isn’t it a bit late for this?” Stiles questions, before pushing around some paper work to try and find his alarm clock. It was under all this stuff somewhere …

“Late?” Allison questions, and now she sounds amused. “Stiles, it’s 7am.”

“What?!” Stiles exclaims, before immediately clapping a hand over his mouth. He waits for a few seconds, but when he doesn’t hear his father’s angry voice, he continues in a whisper. “Oh crap …”

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Allison scolds, and Stiles doesn’t need to see her face to be able to know she is exasperated with him already.

“No.”

“Stiles …” Allison sighs.

“I was … busy. Stiles tries, and technically, it was the truth.

“Ok.” The hunter concedes, and Stiles even starts to feel slightly guilty for not getting any sleep. How did she do that?! “Sorry for calling so early by the way, but me and my Dad are going to visit some family friends today. I thought I’d at least try and call you before I left.”

“Fair enough.”

Stiles hears Allison take a deep breath, and knows what’s coming next. “Scott has been a total mess since we got back. He said you both had a fight.”

“Yeah.”

“You ok?” Allison questions, and Stiles can’t help the sarcastic huff of a laugh that comes out in response.

“Not really.”

“Stiles, you might not technically be part of the pack, but you’re our friend. That’s never going to change.” Allison replies.

Ouch. Stiles knew that technically he wasn’t in the pack, but still, hearing it out loud, and from Allison no less, hurt.

So, Scott had told her everything. Stiles wasn’t even surprised; he doubted the couple kept anything from each other.

“It’s hard to be friends with people when they leave you out of camping trips.” Stiles argues, trying to clamp down his anger. Not necessarily for Allison’s benefit, but his dad would kill him if he woke him up early on the day he got to lie in. “And be friend with people who only talk to you every now and again if they need something. And who keep secrets from you.”

“I get it Stiles, it must suck.” Allison says after a moment, and Stiles hears that she does sound genuinely sympathetic.

“It does. It does suck.”

“Ok, on Friday, we’re having a pack meeting at Derek’s loft. Why don’t you come?”

“Are you inviting me? Can you even do that? I figured you’d need Scott’s permission.” Stiles mumbles.

Allison just sighs, but doesn’t change the conversation. “Stiles, will you come? Please.”

Stiles thinks about it for a moment. Derek would be there, and probably even Peter, so it wasn’t like it would be Stiles against the rest of the teenage pack mates. The very same ones that deserted him in the first place …

But then again, he was supposed to be hanging out with Danny.

“I’ll think about it.” Stiles decides after a moment, still not sure whether or not he was going to go.

Allison though, seems relieved. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Stiles nods, even though he knows Allison couldn’t see him. He wonders for a moment if he should just end the call, but then realises this might be the only opportunity he gets to talk to Allison alone, at least for a while, and he needs some advice.

He wasn’t going to ask Scott, and definitely wasn’t going to ask his Dad. But, he needed to ask someone …

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Allison responds cheerfully, before growing serious. “Does this have to do with Scott?”

“No actually. That ok?”

Allison laughs slightly down the line, and Stiles can’t help but smile. Dammit, why couldn’t he stay mad at Allison? “Yeah.”

“Ok …” Stiles pauses for a moment, unsure of how to begin.

“Stiles, you still there?” Allison asks, after Stiles had become completely silent.

“Yeah, yeah sorry.” Stiles rambles, but then lowers his voice. “So, yesterday, someone asked me if I was dating someone else.”

“Right …” Allison replies, drawing out the word.

“And, I was just wondering, what that means exactly.”

Allison murmurs something that sounds like an agreement, before sighing. “So, someone asked you if you were dating someone.”

“Yeah.”

“How did they ask? Was it casual?”

Stiles thinks back, but isn’t exactly sure. “I guess.”

“Maybe they’re just curious Stiles. Or …”

Stiles waits, sensing that Allison wants to say something more. “Or, or what?”

“They could be jealous.”

“What?!” Stiles exclaims, before dropping his head onto his desk. This time, he is preoccupied with his thoughts, that he doesn’t even remember he was supposed to keep his voice down until he hears his dad in the shower. “Jealous?” Stiles questions, and Allison giggles slightly.

“Yeah.”

“Ok, you’re going to have to walk me through this Allison.”

“Listen, when I first moved to town, Scott asked me if I was dating this guy from my English class. He was curious, but also kinda jealous. He wanted to find out if I was single.”

“You think someone asked me if I was dating because they want to date me?” Stiles asks incredulously, careful to keep his voice down.

“Maybe.”

“Nope. No. Nein.” Stiles replies instantly. “I don’t think that’s what it was.”

“I’m just saying Stiles, and you never know.”

“Actually, I totally do. He totally wasn’t asking if I was single.”

“He?”

Stiles freezes, listening to the sound of his dad fumbling around in the bathroom. He hopes that Allison will just change the conversation, but she doesn’t, instead staying on the line, but silent.

“What?”

“Stiles, you just said he.”

“No I didn’t.”

“It’s Danny isn’t it?” Allison replies, and Stiles is surprised to hear that she sounds genuinely pleased, not amused.

“No.”

“Scott told me you two had been hanging out a lot recently.”

“Yeah well, we kinda had to. What with our best friends ditching us.”

Allison goes silent then, and Stiles is ready to apologise for his little outburst, when he hears his father turning off the shower, and moving around in the bathroom.

“I have to go Allison, my dad’s awake.”

“No problem Stiles.” The young woman replies immediately “So, I’ll see you on Friday? Maybe?”

“Sure, bye Allison.”

Stiles hangs up, and tries not to think too much about the fact he basically promised Allison he would be at the pack meeting. Pack meeting? Stiles didn’t even know that was a thing.

His father knocks lightly on the bedroom door, and pushes it open cautiously when Stiles calls out a tired and raspy ‘come in’.

“Were you on the phone?” The Sheriff asks from the doorway, and Stiles doesn’t even try to deny it.

He nods, before rubbing his tired and bloodshot eyes. “Yeah, Allison called.”

“Everything ok?” His father continues, leaning against the side of the doorway, and not appearing to be moving for a while.

Stiles smiles, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He really wasn’t in the mood for talking, and thinks his dad sensed that as well. “Yeah. We just talked.”

“Stiles, do you really have to have a conversation about you getting enough sleep.” The Sheriff chastises, clearly noticing that Stiles was in the same place as he was when his father had wished him goodnight, and was wearing the same clothes.

“Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re lucky it’s not a school night …” The Sheriff mutters, before turning and heading down the kitchen.

Stiles immediately follows, eager to get himself some breakfast. Coffee and pancakes never failed to put a smile on his face.

Stiles moves around the large kitchen quickly, loudly opening and closing cupboards as his father just watches curiously, whilst sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of steaming coffee.

Stiles makes himself a large and surely an extremely unhealthy bowl of cereal, places that on the kitchen table, then moves to put some bread in the toaster. He doesn’t really know why he is so hungry this morning, but hey, if he was hungry, then he was going to eat; and eat a lot.

He strangely didn’t feel tired, despite getting absolutely no sleep the night before, and wonders idly whether he had actually past the point of exhaustion and come out the other side. He thinks he will regret it later, but for now at least, he was fine.

Satisfied, with his cereal and buttered toast, Stiles then moves to collect his favourite mug from the kitchen cupboard, which was Star Wars of course, and heads to make himself a drink. Stiles fumbles around with the coffee maker for a few seconds, before giving up and just grabbing a cup of fresh OJ instead. It was healthier anyway, and Stiles definitely didn’t need more caffeine in his system. He wanted to get some sleep that night after all. On the way back to the kitchen table, Stiles stops to grab himself a granola bar, and takes a large bite just as he sits down.

“Are you really going to eat all of that?” The Sheriff questions with a raised eyebrow, and Stiles just shrugs, his mouth still full of the chewy granola bar.

“Phesh” Stiles mumbles around a mouth full of food, before brushing off some crumbs that had fallen from his mouth onto the table.

The Sheriff smiles, amused. “What?”

Stiles swallows his mouthful of food, before managing to actually reply in English. “Yes.”

The Sheriff smiles again, and shakes his head in amusement, and Stiles starts to dig into his huge breakfast.

He and his father sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, listening to the rain outside, and enjoying the peace. Stiles though, can tell his father wants to say something, or more accurately, ask something.

“How was Lacrosse practice yesterday?”

Stiles stops mid chew, and wonders for a moment whether or not his father had found out about his little idea that he suggested to Coach. His father was the Sheriff after all, and pretty much knew everything that happened in Beacon Hills. It certainly wouldn’t surprise him if his dad knew …

Stiles takes a long time to chew and swallow his food, and then reaches over for a drink. His dad just waits silently, not giving Stiles the chance to get out of answering his question. 

“It was … interesting.”

“Interesting?” Stiles nods, before grabbing a piece of toast. “What happened?”

“Danny anmdf me plaswyed againsf-“

“Stiles,” The Sheriff closes his eyes, and sighs. “Swallow your food.” The man chastises, and Stiles does, but smiling.

“Danny and me played on a team against some freshmen. And Greenberg was on our team.” Stiles adds as an afterthought, remembering that his team mate had actually managed to score.

The Sheriff nods, “You score a goal?”

“Nearly.” Stiles replies, before grabbing the remainder of his granola bar, and managing to finish it in two bites.

His father doesn't comment on his strange breakfast, but just continues. “Was Scott there? With the rest of his group?”

Stiles can’t help but smile, “His group?” he questions, before balling up his granola bar wrapper, and attempting to throw it into the trash can. He misses, but really can't be bothered getting up and putting it in. The Sheriff, raises an eyebrow, and Stiles sighs, before clambering off the kitchen chair.

“I meant the group that he hangs around with now. Jackson and Isaac and Boyd …”

“Yeah, they were all there.” Stiles interrupts, purposely looking down into his cereal bowl as he sits back down at the table, and not at his father. The Sheriff though, wasn’t going to let the conversation just go like that.

“Did you talk to them?”

“For a little bit.” Stiles admits, trying to answer without mentioning the ‘ball throwing’ incident. He had a feeling that his dad wouldn't find that as amusing as he had. “Coach paired off me and Isaac at one point, so I kinda had to talk to him.”

“And Scott?”

Stiles clears his throat, before shifting awkwardly in his chair. “I think I might be seeing him tomorrow. I’m not sure though.” Stiles answers, although, not really answering the question his father had asked him.

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow at that, clearly confused. “You're not sure?”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, I was going to hang out with Danny …”

“So, you’re not sure whether to go with Danny, or Scott.” The Sheriff answers, understanding his sons’ dilemma instantly.

“Yeah.”

The Sheriff sighs, before leaning back into his chair, watching as Stiles takes a huge bite of his toast. It was cold by now, but Stiles was hungry, and hungry Stiles wasn't picky.

“Well Stiles, you did agree to meet Danny first.” The Sheriff argues, and Stiles nods.

“True.” Stiles mumbles his reply around his mouthful of food.

“But, it’s Scott.” Stiles nods again, and his father smiles, although sympathetically. “I understand. Do you want my advice?”

Stiles sighs loudly, and leans forward in his chair. “Yes, please.”

The Sheriff smiles, probably at his sons eager tone of voice and pleading expression.

“Scott’s got some new friends, and now, you do to. Danny is a great kid, and you seem to be having a great time with him.” The Sheriff smiles then, and Stiles is so shocked by his father’s comment, that he actually stops eating completely. “Friends grow apart Stiles. It’s ok for you and Scott to not see each other as much now. That doesn't mean that you're not friends any more, or are never going to hang out again.”

“So, you think I should just hang out with Danny?” Stiles asks, before reaching over the table for his drink.

“Well, Danny hasn’t ever not invited you somewhere, or cancelled on you, or-“

“Yeah Dad, I get it.” Stiles interrupts, although, he was trying to hide his smirk behind his glass of orange juice. “Thanks.”

The Sheriff nods, apparently pleased, and stands from the table, before moving to place his empty coffee mug in the sink. He turns then, and looks at Stiles who was still sat down at the kitchen table, surrounded by multiple plates and bowls.

“Oh and Stiles, was there something you needed to tell me?”

Stiles frowns, stopping mid chew. He doesn't turn around, but could almost sense that his father had crossed him arms. “What? No …”

The Sheriff waits for a few seconds, before just smiling, and heading out to the front door.

“Ok. See you later.”

“Bye Dad.” Stiles says slowly, as the front door slowly swings shut. Stiles wonders what his father had been talking about as he finishes his breakfast, and washes up.

After he had cleared up, and gotten changed, Stiles realises he doesn’t really have anything else to do. His school work was done, except for his calculus, which he was going to save so he could ask Danny for help. He had begun researching the book Deaton had given him, but was more than done for the day with that. With a sigh, Stiles goes upstairs to grab his bag and phone, and ventures back out into the woods.

He wanted to do something different today though, so avoids the large trees he would usually climb or clamber over, and ventures further out, where huge rocks and small caves were scattered around.

Finding a small area, Stiles dumps his bag, pulls off his hoody, and begins to circle and inspect the rocks. Within five minutes, Stiles had created a little make-do weight challenge, with a collection of rocks that got progressively bigger and heavier. He lifted the smaller ones easily enough, so then began to challenge himself to move them further away from where he was, and then bring them back.

It was backbreaking, literally, and within only an hour, Stiles was sweating and tired. He didn’t give up though, feeling the deep burn in his muscles, and enjoying the idea what he was making himself stronger. 

Just as Stiles bends down, and grabs a rock, he hears a faint rustle from behind him. He whirls around, still holding the rock in his hands in case he needed a weapon, and immediately jumps when he sees a figure stood just a few feet from him.

Before Stiles can react, the rock falls from his hands, and lands directly over his foot.

“FUCK! SHIT! OW! … Oh god …” Stiles bounces up and down, whilst gingerly rubbing his foot with his hand.

Derek doesn’t even move forward, but just pulls a face, obviously unimpressed with Stiles’ colourful vocabulary.

“Nice.”

“Don’t ‘nice’ me asshole!” Stiles bites back, before carefully lowering his foot to the floor. “I could’ve broken my foot …”

Derek opens his mouth to retort, but then frowns, and glances down at Stiles’ foot. “You ok?” The Alpha asks, completely seriously.

“I’m fine.” Stiles mumbles, before holding up his hands “Now shoo, I’m trying to concentrate.”

Derek doesn’t ‘shoo’, but just stands with his hands in his pockets, watching as Stiles bends down, and tries to pick up the rock once again.

“You know, most people have hobbies. Normal hobbies.” Derek murmurs, and Stiles almost swears he hears a hint of amusement in the man’s voice.

“I’m not most people.” Stiles grunts, before simply giving up, and standing straight.

“Tell me about it …”

“Are you following me? Or spying on me?” Stiles questions, before rubbing his hands on his trousers, trying to clear away some of the dirt.

“Yes Stiles.” Derek replies, deadpan. “I have nothing better to do than to follow you around the woods.”

“You say that, but you’re here …” Stiles argues, with a smirk.

Derek glares at Stiles as he moves over to another rock, and attempts to grab that one instead.

“You’re not doing that right. You’ll end up pulling a muscle.”

“Jeez …” Stiles sighs, before dropping the rock back down onto the ground. “Sorry Yoda” he mumbles, before making his way over to where he had dumped his bag.

Derek leans up against a tree, and crosses his broad arms over his chest.

Stiles sits down next to his bag, and pulls out his Lacrosse trainers. He wanted to jog home, and didn’t think he’d make it in his pair of Converse. Plus, the rock had left a pretty nice trail of dirt on his shoes, and he would need to clean them before his dad noticed …

“You’ve been out here a lot.” Derek mumbles, and Stiles looks up from his feet.

“Is there a question in there somewhere? Or were you just making an observation?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Why are you out here so much?”

“Why are you?” Stiles asks back, somewhat childishly.

When he looks up at Derek though, Stiles notices that he didn’t look annoyed, just somewhat, relaxed, even serene. It was extremely distracting, and Stiles tries to snap himself back to attention, and focuses on putting on his trainers.

“Y’know, you never actually see Yoda train anyone.” Derek drawls, and Stiles immediately freezes in shock. Derek, grouchy werewolf Derek, was talking about Star Wars? “If anything, I’m Obi Wan. He was the one who did all the training stuff in the movies.”

“Marry me …”

Derek snaps his head to Stiles instantly, looking genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’ve seen Star Wars?!” Stiles exclaims joyfully, as he clambers to his feet. “You, of all people …”

“Who hasn’t seen Star Wars?” Derek mumbles, sounding almost defensive.

“Well, Scott for one.”

“Well, Scott is an idiot then.” Derek retorts, but he smiles slightly.

Stiles laughs, but then sighs, suddenly becoming melancholy. “Tell me about it.”

Derek sighs, and moves away from the tree, and further towards Stiles. “Scott’s been a bit of a bad friend, but he’s a good Alpha.” Stiles frowns, and Derek quickly moves to correct himself. “Or at least, he will be.”

“Can’t he be both?”

Derek frowns, and cocks his head. “Both what?”

“A good friend, and a good Alpha.”

The Alpha smiles as that, before putting his hands back into this pockets. “Maybe.”

“Well, you sound confident.” Stiles mumbles, as he reaches down to collect his bag.

“How did you get out here?” Derek questions, looking around Stiles, as if expecting to see his Jeep parked up next to a tree.

“Walked.” Stiles answers with a shrug, and Derek frowns once again.

“It’s ten miles from your house.”

Stiles flusters for a moment, before waving his hand in Derek’s direction. “Ok, number one, it’s weird that you know that, and number two" Stiles looks around, frowning. He didn't think he had walked that far. "… really? 10 miles?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Yes. C’mon.”

The Alpha turns before Stiles can say another word, and begins walking away. Stiles scrambles to follow after him, wincing slightly as he puts pressure on his recently crushed foot.

“Where are we going?”

“My car is parked on the main road. I’ll give you a lift home.”

Stiles smirks at the Alpha as he walks alongside him. “And you said you didn’t follow me …”

“Shut up, or you can walk home.” Derek growls, and Stiles does indeed, shut up.

After all, it seemed like it was going to rain, and Stiles was growing tired. He wondered if Derek could sense that, and that's why he offered him a lift though. Stiles doesn't ask the Alpha though, and just climbs into the passenger seat of the Camaro, and lets Derek drive him back into Beacon Hills.

Stiles decides that right now, he loves, no he adores Taylor Swift.

Usually, he didn’t mind Taylor Swift, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to listen to her or anything. But hey, if one of her songs came on the radio, he wouldn’t change the station. Right now though, Stiles was purposely blasting her new album out of Derek’s car, and if the Alpha’s face was anything to go by, Derek was hating every second of it. And so, Stiles was loving it.

Just as Stiles was beating out a great rhythm to ‘Shake it Off’ on his legs, Derek slowly reaches forward, and turns the music off.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaims, waving his hands towards the radio. He wasn’t going to reach over and turn it back on himself, that was just crazy. He liked his arms attached to his body. “You sa-“

“Your Dad is waiting for you.” Derek interrupts gruffly, as he turns his car onto Stiles’ street.

Stiles eyes widen, and he rapidly looks out the window, trying to spot his father, as if he were stood on the side of the road somewhere.

“What?” Stiles asks, turning back to face the man driving the car. “Where?”

Derek rolls his eyes, and gestures his hand over towards Stiles’ home, where a figure could be seen standing next to the Police Cruiser. Stiles squints, unable to really make out the person in the dark, but he suspected that Derek, with his ‘super human powers’, could tell it was his father. “He’s been stood outside for a while ...” Derek muses.

Stiles’ mouth falls open, and his heart begins pounding. He tries not to panic, but it was kinda useless.

After all, it was nearly midnight, he hadn’t been home for most of the day, his father was home early, and he’s was in Derek Hale’s car.

“Oh shit.” Stiles curses, before looking around the car erratically, almost as if Derek’s Camaro held the key to his salvation. Seeing nothing, Stiles takes a deep breath, and turns to look back at his father, who he noticed was stood glaring at the Camaro. He recognised it. “Oh god … I’m dead.”

“Would you relax?” Derek replies, annoyingly casual, and sounding not at all terrified as he pulls the Camaro into the driveway, behind Stiles’ Jeep.

“You relax …” Stiles murmurs in response, a little too preoccupied by his approaching and glaring father to think of a better comeback.

The Sheriff was still wearing his uniform, and so Stiles thinks his father must have just gotten home. Or, the more worrying reason would be that he had been home for a while, but was too busy looking for his wayward son to get changed into his regular clothes or have a shower.

Stiles gulps, and purposely doesn’t move to get out of the car. Instead, he slowly rolls down his window, and Derek huffs in exasperation from the driver’s seat.

Well, screw Derek, he had claws for protection. Stiles only had his occasionally razor sharp wit …

“Stiles.” The Sheriff greets, sounding less than amused as he looks down at his son through the open window.

“Dad.”  Stiles replies, way too cheerily and with a smile that was a bit too wide.

The Sheriff then turns to Derek, who had remained silent and still whilst the Sheriff had addressed his son. “Derek.”

The Alpha nods his head in greeting, before leaning forward and turning off his car. That wasn’t a good sign … “Sheriff.” Derek greets, formally.

Stiles, who was about to make a barrage of excuses to his father as to where he had been and what he had been doing, has to stop for a moment, and laughs.

“Ok, did we just have a Shrek moment?” Two pairs of eyes turn to frown at him, one annoyed, and one thoroughly exasperated. “Y’know, when Donkey-“

“Out of the car Stiles.” The Sheriff interrupts, before reaching forward to open the car door. Derek moves to turn the car back on, but Stiles’ father doesn’t give him the chance to drive away. “Not so fast Derek. I’d like to talk to you as well.” Stiles stands next to his father on the driveway, and the Sheriff gestures to the front door, inviting both men to follow him. “Please.”

Derek nods, and quickly climbs out of the car.

“Hey,” Stiles whispers, walking next to Derek as the Sheriff marches inside the house. “If he shoots you, will you die?”

For what must have been the hundredth time that day, Derek rolls his eyes. “He’s not going to shoot me.”

“How do you know that?! He could.” Stiles trails off then, noticing that his father hadn’t even stopped to open the front door for them, and had just gone on ahead. Wow, he was really mad. “Or … what if he shoots me?!”

Derek just shakes his head, and opens the front door to the house, before pushing Stiles inside. Stiles curses him internally, but still goes to follow his father into the kitchen.

“Have a seat Derek.” The Sheriff says as they enter the room, gesturing to the empty kitchen table.

Without a word, Derek moves over to the table, and Stiles is almost tempted to follow him. Or hide behind him …

“Sooooo …” Stiles drawls, clapping his hands together and smiling.

“Stiles, where have you been all day? And why were you getting a lift in Derek’s car?” The Sheriff asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Stiles wishes that he wasn’t wearing his uniform, that just made him all the more intimidating.

“You’re home early.” Stiles tries, attempting to change the conversation, and Derek rolls his eyes from his seat at the kitchen table.

“Yes, yes I am.” The Sheriff replies, and Stiles can’t help but shift on his feet awkwardly. He knew he couldn’t outrun Derek, but his Dad on the other hand … “So imagine my surprise when I get home, and find out that my son has disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear …”

“I went over the street and asked Mrs Leban if she knew where you were.” The Sheriff interrupts, “She said you’ve been leaving the house every day, alone, and sometimes you’re coming back around midnight, or even later.” Stiles winces. Stupid Mrs Leban, the traitor. The spying traitor … “So I’ll ask you again son, where have you been?”

Stiles thinks about lying, but knowing his luck, that would just make everything worse. Plus, he really didn’t think he’d be able to convince his Dad that he had been … well, he didn’t even know what to pretend to be doing. Derek meanwhile, was looking at him like he was an idiot, almost silently willing him to just tell the truth.

“The woods.”

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow, and looks like that had been the last thing he had expected to hear from his son. “The woods?”

“Yep.”

“Wait, is that how you hurt your hand? And cut up your arms?”

Stiles, very slowly and very purposely, moves his hands behind his back.

“I told you I fell.” Stiles defends.

“You didn’t tell me where, and how.”

“That …”

“Stiles, you can’t just go into the woods alone. It’s dangerous.” Stiles grits his teeth at that, and tries to stop himself from biting back a comment about being perfectly capable of looking after himself. The Sheriff sighs, “Besides, most of those woods are private property.”

“Tell me about it …” Stiles mumbles, purposely looking over towards Derek.

The Sheriff catches Stiles’ look, and turns to look behind himself toward Derek, and then back to his son, before sighing.

“Is that why you were with Derek? Because you were on his property?”

Stiles winces, knowing that he really didn’t have an answer to that. At least not one that his father would like to hear. Either he was trespassing, and Derek found him on his private property, or he told the truth, that he was miles out of Beacon Hills, and Derek had to give him a ride home.

Either way, he was in serious trouble.

The Sheriff sighs, and turns to the man sat silently at the kitchen table.

“Derek, I …”

“It’s fine Sir. No harm done.” Derek interrupts with a small smile, and at any other time, Stiles wouldn’t have been able to stop himself making a snide or sarcastic comment about that.

“See!” Stiles exclaims, waving his hand towards the Alpha. “Derek’s not mad!”

“I’m still mad.” His father growls, and Stiles immediately stops smiling.

“Oh.”

The Sheriff sighs, rubs his hand over his face, and then turns to the kitchen table. Derek stands as the man approaches, and quickly moves to shake his outstretched hand.

“Thank you for bringing Stiles home Derek.”

“It was no problem Sir.”

“Still, I owe you some gratitude for bringing him back safely, so thank you.”

Derek nods, not really sure what to say in response to that. The Sheriff opens his mouth to continue, but then closes his eyes, and sighs.

“Stiles, stop right there …”

Stiles curses inwardly, and turns from where he was stood on the bottom step of the staircase. Derek and his father step out into the hallway by the front door, both wearing matching expressions of exasperation.

What? As if they thought Stiles wasn’t going to try and make a fast getaway …

“Don’t you have something to say to Mr Hale?”

Stiles smiles wickedly at the face Derek makes in response to his father’s name for the Alpha. “Mr Hale.” Stiles murmurs, and Derek looks like he really wants to growl at the young man.

He doesn’t though, and that just amuses Stiles even more. He almost wanted to stick out his tongue …

“Stiles …” The Sheriff warns, and so Stiles clears his throat, and tries to stop himself smiling.

“Thank you.” He says quickly.

“You’re welcome.” Derek replies, just as quickly.

“Get to bed Stiles.” The Sheriff says to his son, before turning to walk Derek to the front door.

Stiles sends on last smile to Derek, or more like one last smirk, before jogging up the stairs, and heading into the shower.

After cleaning himself thoroughly in the shower, and checking that his foot wasn’t broken (it hurt, and had a huge bruise, but wasn’t broken) Stiles walks back to his bedroom, and throws himself down on his unmade bed.

The Sheriff emerges in the doorway seconds later, but Stiles doesn’t sit up. He was exhausted …

“Derek assures me that you were just jogging, and not doing anything else.”

Stiles sighs, and internally thanks Derek for being the kind of person who barely said more than two words in a sentence. “I was.”

“Why the sudden interest?” The Sheriff asks, leaning up against the doorway.

“I dunno Dad. Just trying to train for Lacrosse.”

“Ok.” Stiles smiles up at his bedroom ceiling. “But Stiles, no more sneaking out, and stay away from the woods. I meant it when I said they were dangerous, especially alone.”

Stiles sits up then, albeit slowly, and nods at his father. “Ok.”

“And you’re grounded.”

“What?!” Stiles exclaims, and the Sheriff sighs again. He had done that a lot this evening.

“Stiles, you have a curfew, and you broke it. Not to mention the sneaking out, lying to me, trespassing …”

“Yeah, but I can’t be grounded. I have plans!”

“I know you’re supposed to meet up with Danny tomorrow, so I’ll tell you what, your grounded officially from Monday, when you go back to school. I want you home straight after.”

Stiles squints, and looks warily towards his father. “What about Lacrosse?”

The Sheriff looks heavenward for a few seconds, before turning back to his son. “Practice is fine. But home straight after. Do you hear me Stiles?”

“Yeah Dad. No problem.”

The Sheriff nods, “Goodnight Stiles.”

“Night Dad.” Stiles calls, after his father had shut his bedroom door.

Stiles was exhausted, and felt like he would go to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he stills grabs his phone, and makes one phone call before he let himself pass out.

“Hi Danny.”

“Hey Stiles. You ok?” The man replies instantly, and Stiles smiles into the phone.

“Yeah I’m good. Although, grounded.”

“Grounded?!” Danny exclaims, although he sounds mostly amused. “What did you do?”

“Snuck out of the house.”

“Oh, is that why you’re calling? Can you not hang out tomorrow?”

“I can, my dad says I’m technically grounded once school starts again. Until then, I’m golden. I just wanted to check that we were still on for tomorrow.”

Stiles notices that he sounds almost worried as he asks, and Danny seems to notice it as well, as he laughs lightly down the line.

“Yeah of course we are. You want to come to my place?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and I hope you know, we’re going to be working on the Calculus.”

Stiles’ eyes widen, and he flounders for a moment. “Sorry Danny, I think I’m grounded …”

“Stiles, we have to do it eventually.” Danny interrupts, and he sounds amused once again.

Stiles sighs loudly, and very overdramatically in response. “Fine, but can we order pizza?”

“Well duh.”

Stiles laughs, but quickly stops when he hears his father knock on the bedroom wall. Clearly, that was a sign to shut up, and go to sleep.

“I have to go Danny. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure Stiles. See you tomorrow.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Friday 8th April**

The Sheriff is bustling around in the kitchen when Stiles comes downstairs that morning, holding his backpack and finally feeling like, for the first time in a long time, he had a good night sleep. He had passed out as soon as he had ended the call with Danny, and slept uninterrupted for a full eight hours. Liking the feeling of being well rested, he decides to avoid the coffee, instead just moving to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and pack some snacks into his bag.

There were only three days left until Spring Break was officially over, and Stiles was annoyingly having to use those days to get the last of his homework done. The very same homework he was supposed to have done on the first day of the holiday.

His father raises an eyebrow at Stiles as he closes the fridge, before turning back to pouring his coffee into his flask.

“Where are you going so early?” The Sheriff questions, clearly not used to seeing a fully functioning and awake Stiles at 8:30am on a Friday morning.

“To see Danny.” Stiles answers, whilst placing his bag on the kitchen counter so he could pack his bag a little better. He hoped his friend was hungry, because he had a lot of snacks.

“You’re going dressed like that?” The Sheriff questions, unable to hide his smirk as he takes in Stiles’ grey sweatpants, Star Wars jersey and trainers.

“Hey, we’re just doing homework, it’s not a fashion show.” Stiles defends, before walking over to the cupboard that they stored all the really good, and high calorie snacks.

Screw granola bars and trail mix, he and Danny were doing some hard core Calculus today, and that called for Twinkies.

“Stiles, you look like you slept in those clothes.” The Sheriff continues with a sigh, collecting his own snacks. Stiles was pleased to see a banana go into the bag.

“Well I didn’t. So … yeah.” Stiles mumbles, finally closing his bag, and throwing it onto his back.

“Be back before home 10pm. And if you leave Danny’s, call me.”

Stiles cocks his head, and frowns at his father. “I thought you said I wasn’t grounded until Monday?”

“You aren’t grounded. That doesn’t mean I can’t still give you a curfew.”

Sighing, Stiles nods, and moves to the front door, stopping to scoop up his car keys on the way. “Ok, 10pm. Got it.” Stiles calls over his shoulder.

“And Stiles …”

The young man stops after he opens the front door, and turns to look at his father. “Yeah?”

The Sheriff smirks towards his son, before trying to adopt a serious expression. “Stay out of the woods.”

Stiles just rolls his eyes in response, before closing the front door, and dashing through the rain over to his car.

Despite the fact that he had actively tried to remember where Danny’s house was when he dropped him off a few days earlier, Stiles still has to pull over and text his friend to ask him for directions. Unlike when he messaged Scott however, Danny replies almost instantly, and Stiles can’t keep the huge smile from his face when he gets the message.

_Stiles: Dude I’m lost. Where do I go after 2nd Street?_

_Danny: Lol thought you’d need help. Sent you a map._

Stiles can’t even complain that Danny had been prepared for him to get lost, because he had so kindly sent him a Google maps screenshot that was from his house straight to Danny’s. That was considerate, and kinda awesome.

Stiles arrives a few minutes later, after studying the map and realising that he had actually been heading in the wrong direction for the past few miles. He doesn’t mention that to Danny though when his friend opens the door to his house, smiling.

Danny greets Stiles wearing blue jeans and a plain t-shirt, but he still manages to look like he belonged in a Topman advert, whilst Stiles, in his Star Wars shirt and sweatpants, looked like he was wearing pyjamas. Cool pyjamas, but still … curse his Dad for being right.

“You’re looking awake this morning. That’s a change …” Danny comments as Stiles walks over to the large living room table, and takes a seat.

“And I haven’t even had any coffee.” Stiles replies, somewhat smugly, before reaching into his bag to grab his notebook, highlighters and the homework itself.

“Well, do you want some now? Looks like this is going to be a long morning …”

“I’m good, thanks Danny.”

Danny smiles and nods, before walking into the kitchen to fix his own drink. Whilst he is gone, Stiles rummages around in his bag to grab his snacks, and begins to lay them out on the table.

By the time Danny gets back into the living room with his coffee, Stiles had managed to enclose himself on the table with a circle of snacks and papers.

“You got everything you need?” Danny asks sarcastically as he sits down opposite his friend at the table, and Stiles removes the highlighter from his mouth to pull a face.

“You were the one who said this is going to take a while. I just want to be prepared.”

“For what? A nuclear war?” Danny asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk “Alien invasion that would wipe out all the grocery stores and refrigerators in Beacon Hills?”

“Getting hungry.” Stiles retorts, before pulling his notebook over towards himself, and uncapping his pen. “Now … to work!”

Stiles starts to get bored, and fidgety, about ten minutes into the study session. If he was honest, he was actually surprised that he had lasted even that long.

Danny had smartly suggested that they both thoroughly read the equation and take their own separate notes, and then share what they had written to try and figure out why they were both getting so stuck.

Stiles had read the equation, doodled a police car on his notebook, and now was tapping his pen against the wooden table whilst chewing on a red vine.

“Stiles …” Danny sighs, looking up from his piece of paper, that was covered in what looked to Stiles like actual calculus work.

“Yes?” Stiles asks sweetly, before taking a large bite of red vine.

“You’re distracting me.”

Stiles swallows his food, before nodding his head, and putting his pen down on top of his notebook. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” The young man answers, purposely crossing his arms to stop himself from tapping the table.

“Thank you.” Danny replies, before looking back down at his work.

He doesn’t last long though, as a few minute later, Stiles is tapping his feet against the floor.

“Stiles …” Danny sighs again, dropping his pen on top of his piece of paper.

“What? I can’t help it …” Stiles tries to defend, but he is interrupting by the sound of a loud and shrill ringtone sounding like it was coming from somewhere under the pile of snacks and paper on the large dining room table.

“Seriously?!” Danny exclaims, sounding thoroughly exasperated, but he was smiling.

Stiles smirks himself, and nods his head towards Danny’s side of the table. “That’s your phone, genius.”

Danny frowns for a moment, before wincing, and pulling out his phone from his jean pocket. “Oh, sorry.”

Stiles smiles, but stays silent as Danny looks down at his mobile, and checks the caller ID. His face suddenly falls, and Stiles frowns.

“Everything ok?”

“It’s Jackson.” Danny replies, and Stiles leans back into his chair.

“Bleurgh …”

“I should answer this.” Danny continues, already beginning to stand from the table. “He’ll only just call me again. Do you mind?”

“No, sure, go ahead.” Stiles replies, waving his hand flippantly as Danny heads to the doorway that led into the kitchen. “I’ll just …”

“I’ll be right back.” Danny answers, accepting the call, and closing the kitchen door as he enters the room.

Stiles leans forward to rummage through his pile of snacks, and finding his desired snack, he slowly opens a Twinkie. He picks at it for a moment, not really feeling that hungry, before beginning to pull off small pieces and eat in slowly, whilst trying to listen in to the conversation Danny was having behind the closed door.

He knew Jackson and Danny hadn’t really spoken since Jackson had got back with Scott, and wondered why he had suddenly received a call from his wayward friend. Plus, it wasn’t even 10am, and Stiles didn’t think Jackson was fully awake and functioning on a weekend before midday.

Suddenly, Danny’s voice rises, and Stiles, even though he couldn’t make out the words being said, knows that his friend is angry.

Danny storms back into the room seconds later, appearing red faced and annoyed, and almost crushing his phone in a death grip by his side.

“I think Jackson’s gone crazy.” Danny says, as he pockets his phone.

He doesn’t move to sit back down at the table though, and so Stiles sits up straighter in his own chair, wondering if he should stand up as well.

“Tell me something I don’t know …” Stiles mumbles, scrunching up his Twinkie wrapper, and putting it into his pocket.

“No, I’m serious Stiles.” Danny replies, before closing his eyes, and rubbing his head.

Stiles frowns, and does stand up from the table then, feeling awkward. “Are you okay?” Danny sighs, and suddenly, Stiles realises something. Jackson was supposed to be at the pack meeting today, with Scott. “What did he say?” Stiles asks, his voice much harsher than it was before.

“I …” Danny trails off, before running his hand erratically through his hair. “He wants me and you to go to this meeting thing.”

Stiles feels the colour drain from his face, and grips the table he was leaning on tightly for support. “What?”

“At Derek Hale’s apartment. He said you knew where it was.” Danny continues. The young man shakes his head then, and rubs his temple with his hand.

“Danny, what did he say to you?” Stiles asks slowly, and carefully.

“It didn’t really make any sense, but he wants us both to go to this thing. He said he’ll explain the rest of it when I get there.”

Stiles nods, before reaching across the cluttered table to grab his bag, and beginning to cram all of his belongings back inside.

“Yeah, he can.” Stiles growls.

Danny helps Stiles clear the table, before grabbing the keys to his house, and following Stiles out to his Jeep.

The ride to Derek’s loft is completely silent, and Stiles just sits in the drivers eat, clutching the steering wheel for dear life, and radiating anger. Danny must know not to speak to Stiles, as he just sits and looks out of the window, sighing occasionally and rubbing his head like he had a headache. Stiles can’t help but wonder what Jackson had said to Danny to make him so … blank?

Stiles quickly stops thinking about that, after feeling himself starting get even angrier.

How dare the pack use Danny, innocent, friendly Danny, to get Stiles to talk to them.

He was going to kill Scott and the rest of the pack. Not physically of course, that was kinda impossible. But … he would certainly give them something to think about.

Danny follows Stiles out of his Jeep when they reach the large warehouse type building, and doesn’t even make a comment about the strange location when Stiles marches into the large elevator, and forcibly yanks the doors shut.

Stiles slams, or more like, forcible slides the large metal door to Derek’s loft open when they reach the top floor of the building, and it cracks loudly against the stone wall.

The sound causes a large group of eyes to turn towards them, but Stiles is too angry to care about the fact he is making a scene.

He and Danny enter the loft slowly, and Stiles takes the time to survey the group in front of him. Allison, Lydia and Isaac were sat on Derek’s sofa, whilst Erica and Boyd were sat on the floor in front of them. Scott and Jackson were standing next to the spiral staircase, and seeing Jackson, Stiles automatically forgets looking for Derek or Peter, and just marches straight up to the Beta.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Stiles screams, as Danny quickly moves to follow him forward.

Lydia mumbles something from the sofa, but Stiles ignores her completely. That was new.

“Stiles …” Scott says softly, approaching the man with raised hands, as if he were trying to surrender to him.

Stiles ignores his so called best friend as he moves even closer to the two men, whilst continuing to glare at Jackson. The young Beta just sighs loudly, and turns to face his own best friend. Danny was stood awkwardly and silently behind Stiles, his gaze quickly moving from the various people in the room. Lydia waves, and Allison smiles, but the rest of the pack just remain still and silent, watching.

“Danny, can I talk to you for a minute?” Jackson asks his friend casually, and Stiles snaps his gaze from Scott, to whirl on the man.

“No! No you can’t Jackson!” Stiles exclaims, purposely moving in front of Danny as Jackson approaches him. “You don’t get to drag people, innocent people, into this crap …”

“Crap?” Jackson asks with a raised eyebrow, sounding amused, and not the least bit threatened by the angry human in front of him.

“Stiles, please calm down.” Scott tries again, and Stiles huffs an unamused laugh.

“Don’t tell me what to do Scott.”

The young alpha turns quickly towards Derek and Peter, who were both stood in the kitchen away from the younger members of the pack, and the two humans that had just arrived.  Derek’s expression doesn’t change at all, but Stiles thinks Scott must have received some sort of silent comment from his Alpha, as his expression changes, and he slowly turns back to Stiles.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no you’re not sorry.” Stiles replies, erratically shaking his head, his forced smile contorting his crimson face horribly. “You wanted me here, so you told Jackson to call Danny, and get him here, knowing that I wouldn’t just leave him to come alone.”

“Scott, what the hell is going on?” Danny questions suddenly and loudly, causing three pairs of eyes to turn to him.

Scott sighs, and gestures his head towards his the Beta stood next to him. “Jackson will explain everything Danny. That is, if you want him to ...”

Stiles moves again, about to stop Jackson as he puts an arm on Danny’s’ shoulder, but then makes himself stop. He realises then, that this was Danny's decision, not his. He could leave, or he could stay ...

Stiles remembers what it was like for him at first, not knowing what was truly going on in Beacon Hills, and what it felt like now, to know everything, but still be excluded from the pack.

Danny was Jackson’s best friend after all, and deserved to know the truth. The entire truth.

Stiles doesn’t have a chance to reply or speak to Danny before Jackson moves to the side, clearing a path for Danny to walk up the spiral staircase. “C’mon man, Derek says we can talk upstairs.”

Stiles watches as Danny climbs the stairs behind Jackson, the footsteps echoing ominously. Danny doesn't look back, and Stiles can't help the dread that fills him as his friend leaves his line of vision.

“Stiles, I’m …”

“If you say sorry one more time Scott, I’m going to shove an entire branch of wolfsbane up your ass.” Stiles growls back, startlingly Scott, and if he was completely honest, even surprising himself.

The loft falls into a shocked silence, with Scott staring at Stiles with wide eyes.

Suddenly, Peter whistles, and nudges Derek who was stood next to him in the kitchen. “And you said this would be a great idea …”

Stiles turns quickly to glare at Derek, but the man just sighs.

“Yeah well,” Derek mumbles in response, beginning to walk into the main living room, and towards his pack. “I’ve been wrong before.”

Stiles stands at the entrance to the loft with his arms folded, having ignored the invitation from Derek to sit down on a chair he had brought in from the kitchen, or the invitation from his so called best friend to sit next to him on Derek’s bed.

He was too angry to sit, and had a feeling he and Danny would be leaving soon anyway.

As if Danny knew what he was thinking, the voices upstairs suddenly rise, and a definite bang sounds throughout the building, as if something had been thrown.

You go Danny, Stiles thinks, smirking up at the ceiling, kick his ass.

“Well … that doesn’t sound good.” Lydia mutters from the sofa, before flipping her long hair over her shoulder.

Allison nods, and looks concerned, but Stiles just glares at Lydia.

“Really Lydia?” Stiles exclaims, uncrossing his arms to wave them in the general direction of Jackson and Danny on the floor above him. “What the hell were you expecting to happen!”

"Not physical violence." Lydia retorts, sounding annoyingly like she believed Danny was in the wrong; like he was overacting or something.

Scott sighs loudly from his place on Derek’s now made bed, and shrugs towards his friend. “Danny is a reasonable guy …”

“Y’know Scott, I think that ‘reasonable’ kinda goes out the window when someone tells you that werewolves exist.” Stiles retorts, whilst ignoring the muttering coming from Erica and Boyd who were still sat on the floor near the sofa.

The two Beta's had been murmuring to each other since the loud noise from upstairs, and Stiles suddenly realises that they could probably hear everything that was being said.

"Is Danny ok?" Stiles asks, not really directing the comment at anyone in particular.

"He's angry." Scott replies, his eyes sympathetic. "Really angry."

"I think that's a normal reaction Scott. Your best friend is telling you that werewolves are a thing. Anger is pretty much going to be that 'go to' response when you hear that. It's a good response ..." Stiles adds, remembering his own emotions after seeing Scott shift for the first time.

He had been really angry. Not necessarily at Scott, but at the world for having Supernatural creatures in it, at whoever bit his best friend for turning him into a werewolf, and himself for not realising sooner that the whole 'full moon' joke, wasn't really a joke ...

Suddenly, Lydia pulls an unamused face, and looks over towards the windows, away from Stiles’ face.

“It’s not just werewolves …” The Banshee mutters under her breath, and Stiles grits his teeth, hard.

Before he can bite back a comment in response to that not at all sensitive remark, the Alpha frowns towards the woman, and growls slightly. 

Lydia just sighs, and holds up a perfectly manicured hand. “I mean, there’s Banshee’s, Jackson used to be a Kanima …”

“Lydia.” Derek warns again, from where he was stood near the woman on the sofa, with his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive stance.

Suddenly, the yelling begins to quieten down from upstairs, but Stiles is sure that the argument currently going on above their heads was far from over.

“Did you actually have something to ‘meet’ about? Or was this-“ Stiles immediately cuts himself off as he hears footsteps.

Moments later, Danny descends the spiral staircase, Jackson right behind him, appearing annoyingly fine, and not at all bruised. Damn werewolves …

“Yeah, whatever Jackson.” Danny mumbles in response to something Jackson had said, before walking straight over towards Stiles.

Stiles notices his friend actually looked pale, and so he moves forward and grabs the single chair Derek had gotten for him, before dragging it backwards so that his friend could sit down near him, and away from the others.

“You ok man?” Stiles asks, even though he knows that was probably a pretty stupid question.

Danny opens his mouth to reply, but then just shakes his head, and looks back down towards the empty chair.

Stiles looks up to glare at Jackson, and is pleased to see that the man actually looks slightly guilty. Stiles didn’t even think that was possible … 

“How could you think that telling Danny about all this stuff was a good idea? I mean, it’s Danny Scott! Danny …” Stiles exclaims, waving his hands towards the man as he flops himself down into the vacant chair.

“Stiles, I can hear you.” Danny mumbles quietly, and Stiles is relieved to see that his friend is smiling.

Scott stands up from the bed then, and begins to move forward, back into the main room. He gestures around to the pack with one hand, before turning back to his friend. “Stiles, I think we …”

“We?” Stiles asks with a raised eyebrow. “What, is this a 'group mind' type scenario then? You all think and feel the same thing?” The young man continues, sarcastically.

Peter smirks in response, but his expression quickly clears from his face after Derek sends him a growl in warning.

Scott sighs, and stands next to Derek. He crosses his arms, and Stiles has to try extremely hard not to roll his eyes. Did his friend know he was starting to actively copy Derek now? “Well yeah. That’s what a pack is.”

“Oh, well awesome. Great.” Stiles replies, before pointing a finger at the collective group. “Then I’m mad at all of you then.”

Stiles’ gaze lingers on Derek a little longer than everyone else, and he doesn’t turn away, even as Derek does. Good, Stiles thinks, feel guilty.

“Was this seriously your idea?” Stiles asks Derek, and the Alpha was already shaking his head.

“Scott wanted you to be here.” The Alpha answers, “I just suggested that he invite you to the meeting.”

“And Danny?” Stiles continues, tapping his friend on the shoulder quickly.

The young man looks up then, hearing his name being spoken.

“That was Jackson’s idea.” Derek continues, looking over towards his Beta. “He wanted to tell his friend what was going on.”

“Keeping a secret this big and weird from your best friend is hard …” Jackson mutters, before smiling slightly at Danny.

Stiles is ecstatic to see that Danny doesn’t return the smile, but just shakes his head and looks back down at the floor.

It looked like Jackson was going to have to do a little more than make jokes to earn his forgiveness …

“Can we get on with the pack stuff now?” Erica asks from her spot on the floor, finally joining the conversation. “This is a pack meeting right?” The woman continues, emphasising the word pack, before smirking at Stiles.

“Well, I may not be pack Erica, but I was still invited.” Stiles growls, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodding his head towards Scott.

“Not by me …”

“No, by your Alpha.” Stiles retorts, and he tries to ignore the fact that every pair of eyes were on him now.

Don’t say something stupid, Stiles thinks to himself. Not now they are actually listening to you …

Stiles hates the way Erica was looking at him like he was something that she had stepped in. True, Stiles and Boyd had never really talked, Isaac barely tolerated Stiles, let alone liked him, but Erica … Stiles thought that Erica had at least liked him.

What the hell had happened to her whilst she and Boyd had been away from Beacon Hills?

What did those Hunters do?

“We have stuff to do. Important pack stuff …”

“Oh, get over yourself!” Stiles explodes “This is a group of Twilight rejects, not some ‘bad ass super hero’ werewolf pack. You're not a team of supernatural vigilantes, you’re just kids!”

“Stil-“

“And so what does that make you, considering you’re not even a werewolf …” Erica interrupts Scott, before standing up from the floor. “You’re just the scrawny human.”

“The scrawny human with wolfsbane.”

Boyd growls as he also stands, flashing his own golden eyes. Erica though, just laughs, and flips her hair in an almost perfect imitation of Lydia. That was even more terrifying than anything else ...

“Oh please.” The woman retorts, smiling.

Boyd takes another step forward towards Stiles, and Scott moves forward immediately, holding up his hands.

“Hey …”

“You couldn’t kill me if you wanted to …” Erica continues, ignoring Scott, and Boyd who was taking a cautious step back, away from the young Alpha.

“You know what, bite me Erica!”

“Don’t tempt me …” The woman purrs back, flashing her golden eyes at Stiles.

Danny stares from his seat, too shocked to move, even as Stiles continues to glare.

“That’s enough.” Derek snaps, flashing his red eyes, and shocking and or scaring the room into total silence. The Alpha slowly turns to his Uncle, and glares at the smirking man. “Stop laughing.”

“Derek …" Peter sighs, sounding amused. "You finally get a pack of your own, and it’s full of angsty teenagers.” Peter murmurs back, no longer smiling, but there was still a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“And a crazy psychopathic murderer.” Stiles retorts, and Danny immediately looks up at him with wide and shocked eyes. Clearly, Jackson hadn’t told him everything.

“I think you’re getting me confused with someone else Stiles. I killed the murderer.”

Allison flinches on the sofa, but before Stiles can move to respond, Derek steps forward.

“That’s enough.”

The room falls into silence again immediately.

“So …” Danny sighs, filling the silence, before standing up from the chair. He points over towards Lydia, and frowns. “Banshee …”

“Yep.” The woman answers. “I know, it’s weird, but you get used to it.” Lydia replies, shrugging. Danny smirks, and shakes his head.

“When?” Stiles whispers, and Danny doesn’t appear to hear him, instead turning to point towards Jackson.

“Werewolves …” The group all nod, except Peter and Derek, before Danny turns to the other woman sat next to Lydia on the sofa. “What’s your deal Allison?”

“My family, for a very long time, have been hunters.” Allison explains, smiling kindly at Danny.

“So, when did you find about all this stuff?”

“When I moved to Beacon Hills. My dad told me everything, and I met Scott.” The young woman nods over towards her boyfriend, and Scott smiles in response.

Bleurgh. Stiles had forgotten how 'lovey dovey' they could both get.

Danny huffs a laugh, and shakes his head again, before turning back to Stiles. “What about you Stiles? You have claws or something …”

“Nope. I’m completely and utterly human."

The comment was meant to be casual, but Stiles suddenly feels a lump in his throat, and a scratch behind his eyes. Oh great, crying in front of the pack. That was going to make them see you as a bad ass human worthy of being in the pack ...

“Well, I think we’d probably get back." Danny says suddenly, turning to face Stiles, and clap him on the shoulder. "Work to do …”

Stiles smiles, at Danny, trying desperately not to let the tears fall onto his flushed face. Man, Danny was a good guy …

“You’re leaving?” Jackson questions, actually sounding surprised.

Stiles walks on ahead of Danny, not turning around, or even looking over his shoulder.

“Yep. Me and Stiles are studying and doing homework. We’ll see you on Monday though.” Danny answers Jackson, already walking behind Stiles, and ushering him over to the elevator.

Don’t cry, don’t cry …

“You alright Stiles?” A kind voice says from directly behind him, quieter than the conversation that was currently going on between Danny, Scott and Jackson.

“I’m fine Derek.” Stiles replies, pulling open the door to the lift. “I’ll see you later …”

Stiles and Danny climb into his Jeep in silence, but as soon as Stiles drives away from the Warehouse, both men let out a sigh of relief.

"Are you alright?" Danny asks, and Stiles huffs a laugh in response.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Good point." Danny replies, smiling. He shakes his head again, before reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “How are you not in a psych ward or something?”

“Honestly man, I have no idea.” Stiles answers, sighing.

“What the hell was that girls problem? Is it Erica?”

“Yeah, Erica.” Stiles becomes tempted to just lie, but he thinks Danny must have had enough of that for a lifetime. “I think I know.”

“Tell me …” Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but then shuts it again, suddenly becoming unsure. “Stiles, I know everything now remember? You can tell me.”

Stiles nods, and takes a deep breath, before beginning. “A few months ago, before we saved Jackson and the whole thing with Matt, Erica and Boyd were kidnapped by these hunters. I found them in a basement. Derek though they’d just left, but they were being tortured.”

“Jeez …”

“Derek found them, and rescued them with Jackson and Isaac. That’s how they’re back with the pack now.”

“So, what’s that got to do with you?” Danny asks, frowning.

Stiles grips his steering wheel a little tighter, and lets out a shaky breath. “I found them weeks before they were rescued, but I couldn’t get them out. I wasn’t … strong enough.”

“You think Erica’s mad, because you couldn’t save them?”

“Yeah.” Stiles answers honestly, before waving a hand erratically. “If I was a werewolf, or even anything remotely Supernatural, I would’ve been able to. But, as I am …”

“The ‘scrawny human’.” Danny quotes, looking not at all mocking, but sympathetic.

“I wasn’t strong enough, so they had to wait there for weeks, being tortured. I couldn’t even tell my Dad about it.”

“Stiles, it’s not your fault, and screw her for thinking that.”

Stiles smiles quickly, but then stops, and shakes his head. “Everyone thinks I’m the useless human, and I kinda am.”

“Derek doesn’t.”

At that, Stiles frowns, and turns to look at his companion. "What?"

Danny sighs like he's exasperated, but then smiles. “Stiles, he wanted you there, and he stuck up for you the entire time. He likes you, that’s obvious.”

"Not to me ..." Stiles mumbles, before trailing off.

"Can we make a stop?" Danny asks suddenly, mercifully changing the conversation. "I need a burger."

"Oh my god ... curly fries ..." Stiles all but whines, already planning how they could get to the diner from where they currently where.

Danny laughs at his companions expression. "Curly fries it is."


	9. Chapter 9

**Saturday 9th April**

Stiles wakes up on Saturday morning feeling refreshed and content. Until that is, he remembers what had happened the day before.

Memories of the loft and the confrontation with the pack wash over him, and he suddenly feels like pulling up the covers, burrowing deeper into the bed, and staying there for days. 

Scott had just stood there, letting Erica and the rest of the pack growl and grimace at him, whilst Jackson had basically scarred his best friend for life, by casually letting him know that the entire town was overrun with supernatural creatures, and as if that wasn’t enough, that _he_ was one of them. Stiles hoped that Jackson hadn’t actually shown Danny what he looked like when he was a werewolf. Stiles still had the occasional nightmare about Scott turning for the first time …

Stiles had no idea how Danny had managed to remain sane after that revelation, but incredibly, Danny had kept it together, and even helped support _Stiles_.

Danny had been amazing; taking Stiles out for burgers and curly fries, and then paying, before helping him with his ridiculously hard homework back at his own house.

Danny hadn’t once mentioned werewolves, the pack, or even Scott and Jackson after they had left the loft, and Stiles had been eternally grateful for it. He knew Danny must have had thousands of questions swimming around in his head whilst they had ate and studied, but the young man had completely bypassed any topic that was remotely supernatural, obviously knowing that Stiles just really didn’t want to talk about it.

Danny was a good friend. The same couldn’t be said however, for the rest of the pack though.

Stiles dreaded Monday, the first day back at school after the break, knowing that he had at least two classes with Scott. He couldn’t ignore him forever, and Stiles knew that they really would need to talk to each other at one point about what had happened between them. Without that is, it resulting in yelling. Plus, Scott was going to be flanked by his pack the entire day, and Stiles felt like he had seen enough of them for a while. He couldn’t even be sure that he wouldn’t end up putting wolfsbane in any of their lockers, so decided then that he would try and keep his distance from the group, for now at least.

Stiles still wanted an apology from best his friend, but one that he actually meant. He was pretty difficult to get an apology after all, if the person apologising doesn’t really understand _why_ they are saying sorry. Scott thinks it is because he left Stiles out of the camping trip, but it is so much more than that …

Stiles groans loudly as he rolls to the side of his large double bed, before reaching blindly around his bedside table for his clock, to see what the time was. His eyes bulge comically when he reads the small digital numbers, and he immediately swings his legs out the bed, and runs to gather some clean clothes.

His Dad is stood in the kitchen when he appears downstairs, flustered and slightly out of breath.

“Good morning.” The Sheriff greets, sounding relatively amused. “Or should I say, good afternoon.”

“Morning Dad!” Stiles says cheerily, ignoring the sarcasm. He immediately heads over to the fridge. Stiles was starving, and really wanted to make some breakfast food, even though it was almost 1pm.

“So, school soon.” The Sheriff continues from his place next to the oven. Stiles peers over quickly to see what he was cooking, but unamused by his father’s choice, goes back to gathering ingredients for some pancakes. “You finished all your work?”

“Yep. Me and Danny conquered the calculus.” Stiles answers gleefully, and his father nods.

“What about your biology?”

“Psh … Dad, I did all of that last week.” Stiles says, waving a hand flippantly towards his father, who smiles.

“Fair enough.”

Stiles gathers his ingredients on one of the kitchen counters, and moves to start cooking, until he realises that he needs wait for his father to be finished with his own lunch. With a sigh, he moves over to the coffee machine.

“You want some coffee?”

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow as he turns to look at his son over his shoulder. “It’s lunchtime, and you _just_ got out of bed.”

“And …” Stiles replies slowly, already moving to gather some water from the sink.

His father huffs a laugh, and shakes his head. “No, I’m good thank you.”

“You heading to the station today?” Stiles asks after the coffee machine had switched on, and begun to make his much needed drink.

“Yeah, just for a few hours. The new deputy finally arrived.”

“Really?” Stiles questions, somewhat surprised. With everything that was going on, he had completely forgotten about the new addition to the Beacon Hills police department. “Who is it?”

“A guy called Parrish.” His father answers, before reaching for a plate in one of the kitchen cupboards. “He used to live here in Beacon Hills, but hasn’t been back for a while. Graduated from Beacon Hills High school a couple of years ago, then moved out West. He’s been in the army for the past couple of years.”

Stiles nods, but then frowns. “Won’t he be bored?” He questions, wondering what on earth someone who had been in the army would be doing in a small town like his as a police deputy.

“In Beacon Hills?” The Sheriff questions, with a small smile and a raised eyebrow. “Unlikely. There’s plenty of weird things happening in this town to keep everyone busy.”

Stiles can’t help the slight intake of breath he makes at that comment, but he tries to look casual when he asks, “Weird?” He hadn’t really thought what all of the ‘animal attacks’ and disappearances must look like to the police department. His poor father must have had to have dealt with hundreds of strange and unexplainable cases. 

The Sheriff turns towards his son to answer his question, but seeing the clock on the kitchen wall, he grimaces. The man begins to pack up his lunch to eat on the go, making room all the while for Stiles to cook his own food.

“I better head out.”

“Wait Dad …” Stiles asks, as his father heads from the kitchen. “what happened?”

“See you later Stiles!” The Sheriff calls, before the front door clicks shut.

With a sigh of exasperation, Stiles turns back to his task, and begins to cook himself an unhealthy breakfast, when he was supposed to be eating lunch.

Just as Stiles is about to pour his perfectly mixed pancake batter into his frying pan, and small knock comes from the front door.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles places down the jug. As he moves towards the front door however, he notices a police file sat on the table. He gathers it up, and jogs to the front door just as someone knocks again.

“Did you forget something …”

The young man trails off when he notices that it is not his father at the door, but someone else entirely.

“Hi Stiles.” Scott greets, smiling slightly, but appearing more uncomfortable than happy.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, moving to drop the police file on a small table near the door, and managing not to sound as hostile as he was feeling.

“Can you let me in?” Scott asks, adjusting his leather jacket as the rain outside gradually begins to get worse. “I’m getting wet dude.”

Stiles is tempted, _very_ tempted in fact, to let his friend remain outside, but his chivalrous nature wins out, and with a deep sigh, he steps back, inviting his friend inside.

Scott mumbles a thank you as he jogs inside the house. The young man then stands awkwardly in the hallway, brushing small water droplets from his hair, and appearing like he had no idea where to go, or what to say next.

Stiles gestures his hand towards the kitchen, before walking their himself. Scott follows dutifully, not saying anything in response. The young werewolf sits on one of the stools near the kitchen counter, whilst Stiles goes back over to his pancake batter, and begins to cook his breakfast.

“Is there a dress code for being a werewolf or something?” Stiles mumbles as he pours out his first pancake, unable to keep the smirk from his face.

“What?”

Stiles knows his friend would have heard him, so is obviously confused as to what he is talking about. He lifts his spatula, and gestures it towards Scott.

“You, wearing that leather jacket.”

Scott looks down at himself, before pulling the jacket, and nearly pouting as he sees Stiles’ amused expression. “It’s cool” The young man defends, and Stiles laughs again.

“You look like Derek.” Stiles continues, before tilting his head. “Or Derek’s groupie.”

“Well, he is my Alpha.”

“So, is that what’s it’s like?” Stiles asks, turning from his food to look at his friend on the other side of the room. “You’re like, his fans or whatever? Following him around, dressing like him …”

“No, it’s … different.”

Stiles slowly reaches behind himself, and turns off his cooker. He felt like Scott wasn't just here for a quick visit, and really didn't want to burn his house down. He had enough drama to deal with after all.

“You’ve never really explained it to me.” Stiles says, thinking back to all the times he had seen Scott and the pack interact with Derek. 

Scott sighs, before reaching up to run a hand through his still damp hair, sending small amounts of water into the air, and onto the table in front of him.

“He’s like my big brother, or uncle, or even my dad.”

Stiles frowns, and crosses his arms of his chest. “Weird.”

“Tell me about it …” Scott replies, smiling slightly, and shaking his head in amusement. “He’s family, and I trust him. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.” Stiles can’t help but wince at that, and Scott notices. He flusters for a moment, trying to correct himself. “I don’t mean ... Stiles, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s ok.” Stiles replies, waving a hand in dismissal.

“No, that’s just it, it’s not ok.” Scott leans forward on his hands, and takes a deep breath. “The pack, we know what the right and wrong thing is to say to each other. We understand how we feel, and how we think, but with you …”

“I’m different.” Stiles replies with a shrug and a blank expression, after Scott had remained silent for a few beats.

“Yeah, and it’s terrifying.” Scott says softly, his eyes creasing slightly, as if with worry.

“Terrifying?” Stiles questions, leaning back on his hands that were resting on the counter behind himself. Part of him wanted to move and sit down next to his friend, but the other part was still unsure, and so stayed still, and just listened.

“Yeah. I mean, I knew you were upset, I could smell that …”

“I smelt upset?” Stiles interrupts, unable to stop the question from falling from his mouth.

Scott scoffs, and shakes his head. “Don’t ask.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Stiles replies, smirking at his friend as Scott looks amused.

The werewolf shakes his head again, but this time, it as if to clear it, before continuing. “I knew you were upset because of the way you looked and acted, as well as the smell. But, I smelt other things on you too, things that didn’t make sense.”

“Like what?” Stiles questions, intrigued now. He had always been fascinated with werewolves, and being annoyed at some as well as slightly hating some others hadn't changed that. 

“You smelt like, heartbreak. Despair …” Stiles closes his eyes at that, before turning back to the cooker. Suddenly, whether it was from embarrassment or nerves, he didn’t want to look at his companion in the eyes. “Stiles, you smelt _so_ different, it was like it wasn’t even you anymore. I got back, and you were just, closed off to me.”

Stiles hears Scott shift around on his chair, and wonders idly if the young werewolf was tempted to stand up and move towards his friend. He doesn’t though, so Stiles just keep his eyes down, and distracts himself by continuing to cook his food.

“I know I upset you, and the pack upset you, but how you smelt and what I sensed on you … I didn’t think I, or we, could be responsible for _that_.”

“You thought something else had happened?” Stiles says suddenly, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that his companion was nodding.

“I believed that something else _had_ to have happened. I didn’t understand …”

“Derek told you didn’t he?” Stiles interrupts, finally turning around to face Scott once again. “That you were the one who had made me so …” He trails off, unable to really put it into words that wouldn’t just start another argument. Telling your friend he made you depressed wasn’t exactly the nicest way to start a conversation after all. 

“Yeah, he told me that nothing else had happened while we were gone. That everything you were feeling was because of us.”

“Why were you so mad at me?” Stiles questions suddenly, before crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive stance. “When I came over to your place to talk to you?”

“I thought you were keeping something from me, something really important.” Scott answers with a sigh, and Stiles is surprised to see he looks slightly guilty.

“Like what?”

“I dunno.” Scott replies with a shrug. “Just that something big must have happened. Someone had died, a new pack had arrived …”

“You thought I was lying to you, or hiding something.”

“Yeah.”

“And you were upset, because you couldn’t tell what was wrong, because I’m not pack, so you couldn’t automatically … sense it on me.”

Scott opens his mouth, apparently about to continue, but suddenly the young man smiles widely, and his eyes soften.

“You’re smart.”

“Thank you.” Stiles replies immediately, and Scott rolls his eyes slightly.

“I mean it Stiles." Scott says, smiling. "Derek told me that this might take a while to explain, but you’re getting it straight away!” Scott exclaims happily, and Stiles can’t help but smile at his friends amusement.

Suddenly though, a familiar wave of emotion comes over Stiles, and he sighs.

“I get it Scott. I understand why you acted the way you did when you came back, and why you didn't invite me on the trip. You wanted to protect me." Scott nods fiercely, and at any other time, Stiles would find in amusing. Now though, he doesn't. "But that doesn’t mean everything’s just automatically ok now.”

“What?”

Stiles sighs loudly, tilting his head heavenwards for a few seconds, before looking back down at his friend.

“Scott, I wasn’t upset about you not inviting me to the camping trip. Well no, actually I was upset, but that wasn’t the main thing.” Stiles corrects, and Scott frowns, as if he were listening intently. “You told me I wasn’t pack, Allison told me I wasn’t pack, even Derek told me, and that … it hurt.”

“Stiles …”

“Wait, just let me …” Stiles takes a deep breath, before lowering the hand he had raised to halt his friend. “It wasn’t the fact that you told me I wasn’t part of the pack that made me so upset, because I think I kinda knew that already. It was the fact that you all said it so … casually. Like, you didn’t really care that I wasn’t part of the pack.”

“We don’t care Stiles." Scott replies sincerely, and before Stiles has a chance to reply, he continues. "We don’t care that you’re not pack, because you’re our friend. You’re my best friend.”

“That’s just the thing Scott. You may not care that I’m not pack, but _I_ care.” Scott grits his teeth then, and his eyes crease slightly, like he was upset. Stiles though, continues. “I already felt left out, like I was the unpopular tag-along that was only really wanted when you all needed something, and who the other only ever put up with because I was your friend.”

“They …”

“Scott, to them, I’m only  _your_ friend. I'm not there’s.” Stiles interrupts, and Scott nods, not like he agrees, but as though he understands.

The two men stand in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other, not really knowing what to say next. 

“So, what do we do?” Scott asks suddenly, breaking the silence. 

Stiles sighs, and shakes his head. “I don’t know man. I really don’t know.”

* * *

Stiles pushes his pancakes around in the syrupy mess on his plate, not really hungry anymore. He was sat opposite Scott at the kitchen table, trying desperately to think of something he could say to his friend. Stiles couldn’t remember a time when the two didn’t have something to talk about …

“Did you see that new Bruce Willis movie?” Stiles tries after a while, unable to take the awkward silence any longer.

“No, not yet.” Scott answers with a shake of his head, before shifting around on his chair awkwardly, almost as if he were uncomfortable. “We were out of town when it came out …”

And there it was again, like a punch to the gut, that  _we,_ that didn’t include Stiles. He remembers fondly when ‘we’ had meant Scott and Stiles, and not Scott and his pack.

“It’s good …” Stiles mumbles, before looking back down at his still full plate of food.

He doesn’t mention the fact that he had pirated the movie onto his laptop, too embarrassed, or too proud, he couldn’t decide which, to go and see a movie in the cinema by himself. Stiles had never been to the movies by himself …

Suddenly, the sound of Scott’s ringtone fills the kitchen, and the young werewolf winces.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Stiles asks, nodding down towards the source of the shrill noise.

Scott reaches down to his pocket quickly to grab his phone, before suddenly stopping himself, and looking back towards his friend. “It’s ok, we’re –“

“It could be important.” Stiles interrupts, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the ringtone, that was somehow gradually growing louder as the call went unanswered. “Go ahead, I’ll just …” Stiles gathers his plate and cup, and moves back into the kitchen, to wash up.

He hears Scott push his chair back, and walk into the living room. Stiles can’t hear exactly what is being said, but thinks it must be pack related in some way, as he swears he hears the word ‘Isaac’.

“I have to go …” Scott says quietly, after coming back into the kitchen.

Stiles doesn’t turn around from where he is stood, facing the sink. “Everyone ok?” He asks, stacking his plate on the drying rack. 

“Isaac needs some help.” Score one for Stiles, he  _knew_  he had heard that name. “I should …”

Sensing that Scott wasn’t moving, Stiles turns to look over his shoulder. The young werewolf was stood in the entrance to the kitchen, holding his phone, and looking very much like a startled rabbit, his wide brown eyes darting around.

“I’ll see you on Monday?”

Stiles hears the slight question in his friends comment, and so he smiles, and nods.

“Yeah, see you Monday.”

Scott nods, before turning and heading back out into the rain, to find the pack, and no doubt, to help Isaac. Stiles wonders what was wrong … Maybe Isaac had eaten too much chocolate, or cocked his leg over a cactus …

As Stiles busies himself cleaning the kitchen, and making amazing dog jokes that he would  _never_ say out loud, he realises that it was still only early afternoon. He had only had two days left of complete freedom, had done all of his homework, and his Dad wouldn’t be home for a while.

After finishing up the kitchen, Stiles jogs up into his bedroom to get changed, and gather his things. His lacrosse stick was leant up against his wardrobe, with a small lacrosse ball resting in the net. Stiles must have accidently taken that from practice (oops) but as it happens, that was just what he needed.

As Stiles heads towards the woods with his bag and lacrosse stick, he suddenly remembers that one of his neighbours, Mrs Leban, had been reporting the fact that he had been leaving the house to his father. Stiles turns towards his neighbours house as he crosses the road, and very purposely smiles in its direction, just in case someone happened to be looking out the window. The only thing Mrs Leban could say to his father, was that she saw him head out wearing his gym kit, with his lacrosse stick in his hand. He could very easily explain that to his father …

Stiles only walks into the woods for a minute or so, not wanting to head in too deep. It was raining only slightly, but Stiles thought it looked like it could get worse soon. Plus, he had to walk back home as well, and wanted to get good and tired practicing today.

Dumping his bag and jacket down by a tree stump, Stiles picks up his lacrosse stick, and turns towards his target.

The tree was ancient looking, and extremely wide. Pretending that it was the goal, Stiles leans back slightly, before throwing the ball towards the tree. It bounces off with a satisfying cracking noise, before rolling towards where Stiles was stood.

Stiles throws and collects the ball for a while, enjoying making small dents in the bark of the tree, and the noise the ball made when it hit the wood. He knew that lacrosse try-outs were on Wednesday, and he needed to get better at throwing the ball, especially considering what had happened at the last practice ...

A crack suddenly sounds nearby that has nothing to do with Stiles, and the young man rolls his eyes.

“Following me around again?” Stiles asks the figure behind him, sounding annoyed, but he was smiling.

“Running around in the woods by yourself again?” Derek retorts, and Stiles smiles smugly as the Alpha approaches him.

“No, I’m practicing. Lacrosse try-outs are on Wednesday.”

Stiles holds the lacrosse stick firmly in his hands, before throwing the ball once again. This time, the ball doesn’t roll back towards him, and so he walks forward to collect it.

“How’s your hand?” Derek asks conversationally, and as Stiles turns to walk back towards he had been stood, he notices the man was lent up against a tree, looking the same as always.

Stiles looks down at his hand, no longer bandaged, but the cut was still a bright red, and had the tendency to hurt whenever he used his hand. “Better, but it’s not all the way healed yet.” The man admits, flexing his fingers and watching the cut move. 

“I don’t think it will be for a while.” Derek murmurs, watching as Stiles takes another shot at the tree.

Stiles huffs a laugh as he moves to collect the ball once again, whilst using his free arm not holding his stick, to wipe away some sweat from his forehead. “Why do I feel like there was a hidden meaning in that comment?”

“Because there was.” Derek says, moving away from the tree to place his hands in his pockets.

Stiles turns quickly to face Derek, looking at him directly when he asks, “So, you think what Deaton does, that I’m not letting it heal on purpose?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, and nods down towards Stiles hand, which was holding the lacrosse ball. “Do you have another explanation?”

“No.” Stiles admits begrudgingly, before taking another shot at the tree with the ball.

It hits the tree with a crack, much louder than the ones before, before landing in a small divot in the ground near the base of the large tree. Before Stiles can move to collect it, Derek walks forward, and Stiles stands and watches in surprise as the Alpha picks up the muddy lacrosse ball.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot …” Stiles mumbles, leaning on his stick to catch his breath.

Derek tosses the ball into the air, before catching it with the opposite hand. Frowning, as if he were contemplating something, Derek then rolls the ball along the ground, and Stiles scoops it up when it comes to a stop at his feet.

“Throw it as hard as you can towards me, and I’ll try and catch it.” Derek says, moving slightly to stand directly in front of the large tree Stiles had been using as his target, covering most of it with his wide frame.

Stiles frowns, whilst jostling the lacrosse stick around in his hands.

“Why?” He asks, genuinely curious as to what Derek was doing. Wasn’t he going to ask him something important? What was with the sudden change in topic …

“You want to throw it as strongly, and as fast as you can.” Derek replies, nodding towards the ball resting in Stiles’ stick. “If I can’t catch it, then the goal keeper definitely can’t.”

Stiles nods, and he has to admit, that did make a lot of sense. But how the hell was Stiles supposed to throw the ball faster than Derek’s werewolf-y senses? He’d seen Scott, Jackson, Boyd and Isaac play lacrosse, and didn’t think he would ever be able to compete with them.

Derek though, just stands silently, waiting, and looking like he was expecting Stiles to throw the ball at any moment. He believed Stiles could do it, so, Stiles didn’t feel stupid when he nodded, and moved to give it a try.

“Okay …”

Stiles takes a step back to adjust his stance, and raises his stick over his shoulder. With as much power as he can muster with his already tired arms, he throws the ball forward.

Derek catches it easily before it can hit the tree, and Stiles sags in disappointment.

“Was that it?” Derek asks with a raised eyebrow, before rolling the ball along the forest floor, back towards Stiles.

“No!” Stiles defends, scooping up the ball again, and shifting his stance slightly once again. “I was just warming up.”

“Sure.” Derek says, deadpan, but Stiles swears he hears amusement in the Alpha’s voice.

Annoyed, Stiles takes a deep breath, and throws the ball forward, not even bothering to really aim this time. He misses the tree, instead hitting Derek’s leg.

“Holy shit! Sorry …” Stiles flusters, realising suddenly that Derek hadn’t caught the ball. Could he have?

“It didn’t hurt.” Derek replies immediately, before bending down to grab the ball that was resting at his feet.

Stiles notices that it didn’t look like the man was lying, as he looked as stoic and broody as usual as he tosses the ball back and forth between his two large hands.

“Could you catch it? Was that better?” Stiles asks, somewhat gleefully.

Derek rolls his eyes, and Stiles thinks that must have answered his question. He had managed it once, and now he just had to keep doing it like that, especially during actually matches. That is, if he ever got to play first line …

Stiles is so distracted by his thoughts of scoring a winning goal in the upcoming lacrosse game, that he doesn’t realise that Derek was throwing the ball back towards him, and not rolling it this time. It wasn’t a hard throw, but Stiles doesn’t manage to deflect it or more out of the way, before it hits him squarely in the crotch.

“OW! OH FUCKING FUDGING HELL … OW!” Stiles exclaims, dropping his stick and cupping his hands over his most sensitive, and now probably bruised, area.

He hops around in a circle, trying to think of any other than the pain, and gritting his teeth to stop himself from saying anything else colourful. His house was nearby after all, and he didn’t want his neighbours saying else to his father …

“Are you ok?” Derek asks quietly, as Stiles slowly comes to a stop back where he had been stood before, facing the Alpha and the large tree.

“No! I’m not okay! I’m …” Stiles lowers his hands, and shifts around, before looking up towards his companion. His sentence immediately drops when he notices Derek’s expression. He was licking his lips and worrying his teeth, and his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Are you laughing at me?” Stiles growls, all pain forgotten as he glares at Derek. It was very obvious that the Alpha was trying not to laugh out loud …

“What?” The Alpha questions innocently, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it.

“You’re laughing!” Stiles exclaims, as he bends to pick up his neglected lacrosse stick. He thinks that he really should try and be more careful with it, considering how much it had cost. He brushes off some of the dirt and leaves, before returning to his original position, and taking up his throwing stance. “That wasn’t funny dude.” Stiles mumbles, trying to find a good place to aim for.

Derek cocks his head, waiting as Stiles scoops up the ball, and prepares himself to throw the ball again. “It was kinda funny”

“Screw you! Not all of us have werewolf enhanced …” Stiles trails off then, his thoughts taking a very strange turn.

Derek frowns for a moment, as if he is confused as to what Stiles was thinking about, but then he sighs, realising. “Don’t”

“Really? They’re just as vulnerable- “

“Stiles, stop talking.” Derek interrupts, and Stiles does, jerkily nodding his head.

“Nice to know even werewolves have a weak spot.” The young man mumbles, before biting his lip to stop himself from saying anything else, or laughing.

Stiles takes a deep breath, before throwing the ball once again. This time Derek catches it easily, and Stiles groans in frustration.

“Yes, I have a weak spot. Now stop aiming for them.” Derek mumbles, rolling, and not throwing, the ball back towards Stiles.

“Hey, you wanted to motivate me. Well, you got it!”

“You’re an idiot.”

Stiles glares, before he tries to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. He draws his arms back, before throwing the ball as hard as he could towards the large tree, trying to avoid Derek.

Strangely, fate seemed to be against him today, or on his side, he wasn’t sure which, as when Stiles looks up, he sees that Derek is slightly hunched over, holding his crotch with one hand. The ball was sat at his feet, and Stiles doesn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out what he had managed to hit.

“Ow …” Derek growls under his breath, managing to sound angry and Alpha-y even as he was grimacing and hunched over in pain.

“I may be an idiot, but I’m an idiot whose aim is improving!” Stiles exclaims joyfully, before managing to move out of the way just in time to avoid being hit in the head by the ball that Derek throws in retaliation.

“Hey, I hit you by accident!” Stiles exclaims, before turning to retrieve the ball.

“Yeah whatever …” Derek grumbles, standing and moving back towards Stiles.

Stiles smirks as Derek glares at him, unamused, before remembering why the Alpha had suddenly appeared in the first place. "What did you want to ask me?" Stiles asks, whilst removing the ball from his stick and placing it back in his bag.

It was starting to rain heavier than before, and Stiles knew he should probably be heading home by now ...

"Scott came to see you."

Stiles raises an eyebrow, before bending to scoop up his jacket, and put it on. "That wasn't a question ..."

"I wanted to know what happened."

Stiles stops for a moment, looking at Derek closely, as the Alpha just gazes back, frowning. "No you didn't."

"What?" Derek asks, still frowning. 

"That's not what you wanted to ask me."

Derek sighs, and shifts around on his feet. Without a word, he bends to grab Stiles' bag, whilst Stiles grabs the rest of his belongings. "What did you find? In that book that Deaton gave you?"

Stiles smiles widely, before nodding back towards the way he had come. "C'mon, I'll show you."

* * *

Derek and Stiles sit in silence in the warm comfort of Stiles’ bedroom, both respectably looking at their books, and ignoring each other. Rain gently hits the window from outside, and Stiles is thankful that he had the foresight to invite Derek back to his house. They both would be soaking wet by now if they had stayed in the woods. Not that Stiles thought that Derek would mind that; he would probably have just shook all the water off himself once he got home …

After getting that really weird (but really funny) image out of his head, Stiles sighs loudly, before closing the large book Deaton had given him with a dull thud. He moves to hold it behind himself, over his shoulder, and feels Derek take the book from him.

“Nothing?”

Stiles spins around on his chair, moving away from his cluttered desk and opened laptop, to face Derek. The Alpha was sat comically awkwardly on Stiles’ unmade bed, purposely as far away as possible from the pile of dirty laundry near the pillows.

“Nope.” Stiles replies, wearing a smirk.

Derek just raises his eyebrows, as if he was expecting Stiles to elaborate.

“At all?”

Stiles shakes his head, before moving the chair he was sitting in slightly back and forth. “Nein. Nada. Njet …”

“Couldn’t you have just told me that before?” Derek interrupts, closing the book he had been reading, before moving to place it on the bed next to him. The Alpha careful opens the book Deaton had gifted to Stiles, and begins to read.

“It was raining dude, I didn’t want to have this conversation in the woods.” Stiles replies, like it was obvious, before spinning back to face his desk.

Stiles sits quietly for a few moments, just listening to the quiet rustling of paper, and the patter of the rain against his bedroom windows. After a while, Derek sighs loudly, and Stiles has to stop himself from saying ‘told you so’ out loud.

“There has to be something Stiles. Deaton wouldn’t give you this if it wasn’t important.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome to translate the ancient Polish book. Maybe you’ll find something …” Stiles mutters, mostly to himself, as he begins to click around on his computer.

He hears Derek flip open the book once again, and turn a few pages, before he suddenly stops.

“Is this a post it note?”

Stiles quickly turns to look over his shoulder, and sees the Alpha looking less than amused as he gazes down at the note stuck in the book. “Yeah.” Stiles answers, but Derek’s expression remains unchanged. “What?” The young man questions, before spinning around on his chair to face his companion.

“You do realise that this is really old.” The Alpha retorts, slowly peeling off the note, before reading it.

“Yeah, it’s really old, and totally useless.”

Derek grits his teeth at that, but doesn’t reply, before looking back down at the book, and reading it once again.

Stiles didn’t really know what he was trying to find, unless he was just looking at the pictures, or the small notes that Stiles had written on scraps of paper. Stiles had translated, and then read, pages and pages of the book, but he hadn’t found anything to do with emissaries, werewolves … or anything that he had come across before. As he had said to his Alpha companion, the book was useless.

With a loud sigh, Stiles turns back to his desk and clicks around on his laptop, attempting to find some of the notes he had made the day before. If he couldn’t tell Derek  _anything_  about the Polish book, he knew he would be in serious trouble …

“What about this?”

Stiles looks over his shoulder once again, and sees Derek waving another small post it note in his direction. Stiles squints at it, quickly reading his scribble that was his handwriting.

“Oh, I just noted it ‘cos it was interesting.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, and places the note back in the book. “Interesting how?”

“It’s about some ancient Polish demon. Pretty cool stuff. That is, if you discount the human sacrifices.” Stiles adds as an afterthought.

Derek just rolls his eyes, before closing the book, and handing it back to Stiles. The young man takes it carefully, remembering the Alpha’s comment about it being ‘really old’, and places it on the edge of his desk, before turning back to his computer.

“Ok, so what now?” Derek asks, standing from the bed, and moving around Stiles’ bedroom.

Stiles ignores him, in favour of digging around on his desk. “Well, I do still have this.” Stiles holds up the small black object quickly for Derek to see, before plugging it into his computer.

“A USB pen?” Derek asks curiously, approaching Stiles and the desk.

“You know, I’m pretty impressed that you know what this is.” Stiles mutters, already attempting to download the only file on the pen onto his laptop.

“I’m a werewolf Stiles, not an actual wolf. I have used a computer before.” Derek grumbles. He rests a large hand on Stiles’ desk, and leans down to take a closer look at what his young companion was doing. “What is it?”

“A bestiary.” Stiles answers.

The computer bings cheerfully as the file finishes downloading, and Stiles wastes no time in opening the large bestiary, and beginning to click through. Most of the text was in Latin, but the pictures were helpful in getting Stiles to find the right section. Stiles quickly bypasses the gruesome painting of someone being burned at the stake, attempting to find something else.

“Stiles … where did you get that?” Derek asks slowly, and Stiles winces.

“It … Scott gave it to me.”

“Where did Scott get it?” Derek growls, and Stiles clears his throat, before very purposely leaning away from the Alpha.

It would appear Derek had forgotten about Scott and Stiles’ little felony in obtaining the bestiary… Well, in the Alpha’s defence, Scott and Stiles had committed  _a lot_  of felonies recently.

“Oh look, something about werewolf mating cycles.” Stiles says cheerfully, desperately trying to change the conversation. “That looks interesting!”

“Stiles …” Derek growls again, and Stiles sighs, before turning to look up at his angry werewolf companion.

“It belonged to Gerard Argent.”

“ _The_  Gerard Argent? Allison’s grandfather?” Derek questions incredulously, and Stiles nods. 

“Unless there’s more than one. And if there is, we all need to start panicking now …”

“You kept it?” Derek asks, and Stiles is pleased to note that the Alpha no longer sounds ready to rip his throat out. If anything he sounds, almost impressed.

“Well, I’m not exactly going to give it back.” Stiles mumbles, watching as Derek moves to walk around the room once again, appearing distracted.

“So what, you’re going to search ‘scrawny’ ‘pale’ and ‘likely to fall over’ and see what comes up?”

“No …” Stiles replies with a glare, before nodding over to the large book on his bed. “That book mentions a couple of Supernatural type creatures that seem interesting, so I’m going to search for them in here, and see if the Hunters know anything about them.”

“Do you really think that you’re a Supernatural creature Stiles?” Derek asks suddenly, and Stiles can’t help but scoff, and shake his head.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Stiles spins his chair slowly, moving to face Derek, who had placed himself in the large chair on the other side of Stiles’ room. “You’re kidding right?” Derek shakes his head, and so, Stiles scoffs again. “Derek, dude, I’m kinda useless. Likely to get injured, terribly hand coordination …”

“Not all Supernatural creatures are the same Stiles.” Derek interrupts, before crossing his arms. “You should know that better than anyone.”

“Then why …”

“Sometimes, people have ancestors who were Supernatural, and some of their ‘abilities’ get passed down, but not much else.”

Stiles frowns then, and cocks his head, the bestiary and computer forgotten for now. “How do you know that?”

Derek shifts in his seat for a moment, looking strangely nervous, or even uncomfortable. It was a new look for the Alpha, and Stiles couldn’t help but stare.

“My mother.”

Stiles smiles sympathetically, but Derek very pointedly looks away, apparently suddenly extremely interested in some of Stiles’ comic books that were sat on his book shelf.

“She knew a lot about the Supernatural huh?” Stile asks, as he spins his chair back around to face his desk.

“She was interested in it. “ Derek replies quietly. “Plus, she got along well with Deaton.”

Stiles sighs, as he continues to click around on the bestiary. He remembers looking over some of the pages with Allison, and Lydia was the go-to translator in favour of Google. But that was research for someone else, and something else entirely. This was research for Stiles, about Stiles, and it was more than slightly weird.

“Still nothing…” Stiles mumbles, before returning to scanning through all the ancient texts.

Witches, werewolves, warlocks … oh my. Stiles smirks to himself at his little joke, and just keeps clicking.

Suddenly, a phone rings loudly in the quiet of the room, and Stiles turns to look over at Derek. The Alpha was just staring back at Stiles and the computer, ignoring the sound.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” The young man asks, nodding down towards Derek’s pocket, and the very loud ringing.

“It’s Scott.” Derek replies quickly, but he still doesn’t make a move to answer to phone.

“Is that another one of your weird sense things?” Stiles asks with a smile, as he spins back around on his chair. “The ability to know which one of your puppies is calling you.”

Derek sighs, and Stiles hears the sound of the man shifting around in his chair, and pulling out his phone.

“They all have a different ringtone.” Derek explains dryly, and Stiles can’t help but feel slightly disappointed.

“Oh.”

Derek answers the call, and Stiles curses himself that whatever weird Supernatural thing was going on with him, it wasn’t weird enough so that he could have hearing like the werewolves. He hears Derek mutter, and say the occasionally ‘sure’ or ‘ok’, but that’s it. Stiles can’t help but be reminded of just exactly why Derek was the one helping him with the research, and not Scott.

Scott never told him anything …

“Problem?” Stiles asks conversationally after Derek had hung up, not really expecting the Alpha to tell him if there was actually a problem.

“It’s Isaac.”

Stiles closes his laptop, giving up for the day, before turning to watch as Derek pockets his phone, and stands up.

“Is he ok?” The young human asks, mostly to be polite, but partly because he was just nosey. 

“Not really." Derek answers, and Stiles rolls his eyes. Once again, it looked like that was all he was going to be told about the pack business. "Was Scott here, in your room?” The Alpha asks then, strangely changing the conversation. 

"No, he was downstairs." Stiles sighs, and leans back in his chair. Damn it, he was hoping the Alpha wouldn’t notice that he had gotten a visit from the young Alpha-in-training earlier. He didn't want to talk about Scott. “Could you smell him when you came in?”

“Yes.”

Of course he could, being the Alpha, and a werewolf with a ridiculously good sense of smell. Stiles nods, before moving the chair that he was sat on back and forth to distract himself.  

Derek sighs, and nods down towards the closed laptop, and the book from Deaton.

“Tell me if you find anything.” The Alpha says sternly, and Stiles has to stop himself from murmuring something about ‘orders’ and ‘not your Beta’ …

Stiles just nods though, before frowning.

“Tell you how?”

Derek sighs, "Tell Isaac or Scott. They'll pass on the message."

Stiles grits his teeth. "And, if I don't want to walk to Isaac or Scott?"

Derek sighs once again, "I'll come talk to you soon. Keep looking ..." The Alpha adds, pointing over to the book almost as if he expected him to get back to reading and researching straight away. 

“Did I forget to mention that this thing is in Latin." He says, referring to the large and extensive bestiary. "And the book is in Polish …” Stiles grumbles as an afterthought. “Does anyone actually write ancient mythology stuff in English?”

Stiles thinks he almost hears Derek scoff in amusement, before he heads of out the room, leaving the bedroom door open, and murmuring something about ‘showing himself out.’

Stiles doesn’t follow the Alpha out of the house, but instead he just calls a 'bye Sourwolf!' which earns him a growl, before he sighs again, and listens to the sound of the front door shutting.

He had more important things to worry about after all, like the fact that he had school in two days …

With another sigh, Stiles pushes himself out the chair, and walks over to his wardrobe to collect his bag and begin sorting through his school books. For now at least, he was just human Stiles, and human Stiles needed to get ready for school.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sunday 10th April**

Stiles looks down at the mobile phone in his hand, and scowls at it. He had been up for a few hours, and hadn't managed to get anything done, except glance at the stupid book Deaton had given him. Whilst randomly flicking through the pages, Stiles had an epiphany. 

He needed to speak to Derek, but realised too late that he didn't really have any easy way of doing that. What he did have though, was his Uncles phone number.

Stiles pushes the call button before he can stop himself.

"Stiles." Peter greets smoothly, and Stiles can almost imagine the grin on the man's face. 

"Peter. I need a favour."

"Interesting ..." The man drawls, and Stiles rolls his eyes. "What exactly are you asking?"

"Does Derek have a phone, or a mobile?"

Silence comes over the line for a few seconds, before Peter scoffs once. "Hang on ..." 

As Stiles holds his phone up to his ear, he feels it vibrate, the sudden motion making him wince. 

"That's all you're getting from me Stiles." And with that, the man hangs up the phone.

Before Stiles could swear or curse at the werewolf for being so totally useless, he realises with some surprise that Peter had messaged him an email address. Well, that was something ... 

He wonders suddenly whether or he should even bother messaging Derek, or if Derek had actually meant it when he asked Stiles to tell him if he found something. Stiles wonders what ‘something’ would even mean? The last thing Stiles wanted to do was to annoy Derek by messaging him, only to find that he had just overreacted, and what he thought was something, turned out to be nothing.

God, sometimes he really overthinks things …

Stiles punches the email address into his computer quickly, sending a quick message of 'Hi' before he could change his mind. 

After a few minutes, Stiles huffs, and stops looking at his computer screen. Of course Derek wouldn’t reply, that would have been too easy. Unless Peter had given him a fake email address ... Stiles wouldn't put in past him. 

Placing the his mobile phone and headphones down on his desk, Stiles spins around in his chair, and glances around his room. It was a mess, but he really wasn’t in the mood to clean. Well, he was never in the mood to clean, but still.

School was tomorrow, and despite knowing that all of his work was finished, and his bag was packed, he was nervous. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had been nervous to go to school. He wonders whether he should call Danny, and figure out a plan for school. They would be better off sticking together, especially if the pack was walking around.

Suddenly, Stiles’ laptop bings cheerfully, and he turns around in his chair to look at it. He can’t help but smirk when he sees the message that had popped up on screen.

_Sourwolf: Who is this?_

Stiles wonders idly whether he should reply cryptically, but then quickly changes his mind. An annoyed Derek was never good, especially when Stiles wanted to have an actual conversation, not a argument.

_Stiles: Stiles_

_Sourwolf: How did you get this address?_

_Stiles: Peter._

Stiles replies, before thinking that maybe he should add something else. Derek didn't seem like he was going to be more talkative via email than he was in real life.

_Stiles: prob?_

_Sourwolf: No._

Stiles waits a few second to think about what to say next, but Derek beats him to it. 

_Sourwolf: Me and Isaac have just come back._

Huh, out with Isaac? Stiles tries to imagine that in his head, but doesn’t manage to see anything other than Derek and Isaac shopping together; stood next to an endless rack of leather jackets and black jeans. Smirking, Stiles types a reply, glad that Derek wouldn't be able to see his amused expression. 

_Stiles: Shoppin?_

_Sourwolf: Yes actually. Its school tomorrow_

Oh, Derek had taken his Beta shopping to get him things for school. Wow, Stiles had not been expecting that.

_Stiles: Cool. Btw who emails in full words dude?_

_Sourwolf: Me_

Stiles chuckles, before he quickly punches a reply into his laptop. Emailing Derek, who would have thought …

_Stiles: Wow, ur funny all of a sudden_

_Sourwolf: And you are easier to understand_

_Stiles: Ouch! Dude that’s harsh_

_Sourwolf: What did you want Stiles?_

Stiles stops suddenly, and wonders exactly what he was supposed to say. Of all the people in Beacon Hills Stiles thought he would be talking to about this, Derek was the very last person he would have had in mind.

True, Derek did help Scott, and seemed to be interested in keeping his Beta’s safe. But Stiles wasn’t a Beta, everyone had made that pretty clear.

So, why was Derek so interested?

Stiles’ computer chimes again, and the young man quickly shakes himself, and glances down at the new message.

_Sourwolf: ?_

_Stiles: You said 2 tell u if I found anythin_

_Derek: Did you find something?_

_Stiles: Mayb_

_Derek: Well?_

_Stiles: It’s hard to xplain_

_Derek: Hang on …_

Stiles frowns down at the message. Hang on? Did that mean Derek was suddenly going to Tarzan swing his way into Stiles’ bedroom … He hoped not. He was still wearing his Avengers pyjamas.

Stiles gets his answer a few minutes later, when his phone vibrates. He picks it up warily, eyeing the unknown number that was strangely familiar ...  

“Hey.” Derek greets when Stiles answers the phone, and Stiles notices a strange noise in the background.

“Hey, are you driving right now?”

“No, we’re home.”

“Oh.” Stiles pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say next. Was he overacting? Did Derek even care?

“Well, what did you find?” The Alpha asks suddenly, and Stiles mentally kicks himself to stop daydreaming, and stay focused.

"First things first, how did you get my mobile number?"

"Isaac."

"Isaac?" Stiles questions. He didn't even know the Beta had his number.

"It's easier to talk this way." 

"Yeah ..." Stiles agrees, still distracted slightly. "Is this your number?"

"No, it's Isaac's mobile. I'm just borrowing it."

Stiles nods his head, before he realises that Derek can't actually see him right now. "Okay, so basically, I don’t think I’m anything supernatural.”

“I thought we pretty much agreed on that …”

“But,” Stiles puts in, ignoring the dry edge to Derek’s voice. The Alpha seemed less than interested in this conversation. “I found something in the book, about …” Stiles quickly flicks to the right page, before reciting the polish text. “Krwawienie”

Stiles mentally pats himself on the back for his pronunciation. He had been trying to learn more polish since getting the book, and felt like he was doing a pretty good job. His grandparents would be proud of him. 

“What does that mean?” Derek asks immediately, suddenly sounding much more interested.

“Literally, it translates to ‘bleeding’ but the book describes it kinda differently.”

“I’m listening.” Derek murmurs, just as a clang sounds on his end of the line.

Stiles frowns. “What was that?”

“Isaac's cooking. Or trying to.”

Stiles smirks into the phone, and Derek must sense that the young man was trying to hold back laughter, as he sighs.

“You’re trusting him to cook? Not scared he’s going to poison you?”

“He’s not that bad.” Derek argues, only causing Stiles to smirk even more. “Stiles, don’t get distracted. The text?”

“Oh yeah, right.” Stiles turns back to look at the book, and squints as he attempts to read the translation he had added on a post it note. “Bleeding, it’s this idea that someone who is around the supernatural gets affected by it.”

“You mean, like some of it transfers onto you?” Derek questions, and Stiles realises that the man doesn't exactly sound convinced. 

“Yeah. It’s like I’m supernatural by association.”

Derek sighs, and is quiet for a minute before he speaks once again. “Maybe …”

“Wow, way to sound convinced.”

“Stiles, how long has it been since you were around Scott? And not just for a few minutes, but for a long time?”

Stiles winces, before he actually thinks back. He hadn't even realised how long it had been since he had hung out with the entire pack for an extended period of time. When they rescued everyone from the Kanima? When he sat with the pack that one time at lunch?

“A few weeks.” Stiles answers honestly, and now it's Derek's turn to sigh. 

“I don’t know Stiles. What you’re describing, it seems like that kinda of exposure would need to be for a long time. Scott’s only be turned for a year.”

“What about you? And the others?” Stiles questions, somewhat desperately.

He was so sure he was right about this, but the more Derek said, the less convinced he was getting. 

“It’s possible Stiles, but I’m not sure. I had human members in my family, who lived with us, and none of them could do anything you could. Nowhere near.”

“So, it’s not this then?” Stiles says, and he can’t help the dejected tone that seeps in his voice. Just when he thought he was on to something …

“It’s a maybe. Have you talked to Deaton?”

“No.” Stiles answers honestly, before closing the book. 

"I think you should."

"Okay."

Stiles hears another voice in the background, and thinks it's must be Isaac. Derek replies to his Beta, before speaking back into the phone. "I've gotta go."

Stiles hangs up, not waiting to make an awkward farewell. He really did think he had figured it out. It had made sense; that all this stuff going on with Stiles was because he was near the pack, and all the supernatural stuff that went with that. But here he was, back to square one, again. 

Sighing loudly, Stiles picks his phone up once again, and presses his friends number. He needed to talk to someone. 

“Hi Danny, it’s Stiles. Do you want a lift to school tomorrow?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Monday 11th April**

Stiles reaches around awkwardly to the back seat of his Jeep, and fumbles wildly, trying to grab his back pack. Danny, who was sat in the passenger seat next to him, raises an eyebrow at the young man’s flailing and cursing. Finally, Stiles grabs his bag, and swings it onto his lap.

The two young men were parked outside Beacon Hills high school, and had amazingly managed to arrive half an hour early for school. Danny had suggested that Stiles check he had everything he needed, after Stiles confessed he had never been this early to school. Ever.

Clearly, Danny thought he had forgotten something in his haste to get to get out of the house. Stiles was confident that he had everything he needed though. After all, he had starting packing last night …

“School books?” Danny asks, and Stiles digs through his chaos of a packed bag, trying to spot his large work books. Finding them, he looks up towards his friend.

“Check.” The man replies smugly, smiling.

Danny smiles back, before suddenly changing his expression, and looking deep in thought. “Homework?” The young man asks, and Stiles blanches for a moment.

He digs furiously through his bag, before letting out a loud sigh of relief as he finds his small plastic folder, containing all the work he had done over Spring Break.

“Check.” Stiles says again, even more smugly than before.

“Pens?”

Stiles automatically starts smiling, and doesn't even bother to dig around in his bag. “Ch – Shit!” Stiles exclaims, realising very quickly that his 'pen pocket' was very obviously devoid of pens.

“How the hell did you forget pens dude?” Danny asks, although he sounds more curious than amused.

“I was a little busy packing all my other junk.” Stiles huffs, before closing his bag roughly.

Danny nods, and takes another swig of his coffee that he had brought with him to school. Of course, Stiles couldn't even remember to bring a pen, but Danny had already worked out, made himself lunch, packed his bag, and made coffee to go. He was so organised ...

“Well, I’m sure the teachers would prefer you to have their assignments rather than a pen.” Danny argues, and Stiles can't help but nod rapidly, and agree. He hoped his friend was right, although, he couldn’t get the mental image of Coach throwing a pen at Greenberg out of his head ...

“Good point.”

Stiles reaches forward for his own drink, before looking out his window, and watching as some more cars begin to fill up the car park.

“Nervous?” Danny asks suddenly, and Stiles whirls his head around to look at his companion.

“About school? No.” Stiles replies quickly, before emptying his can of Coke in one go.

Danny just rolls his eyes, and nods over to a large black car. Stiles recognised it instantly. That was Allison's new car ...

“About seeing everyone?” Danny amends, and Stiles just sighs as he watches Allison climb gracefully out of her car, and make her way inside.

“Yeah.” Stiles admits, because really, what was the point in lying to Danny. Suddenly, Stiles frowns, and cocks his head at the very content and peaceful looking young man sat next to him. “Wait, shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Asking me what?” Danny questions, before taking another long drink.

“Dude, Danny, you just found out that your best friend is a werewolf. You’re weirdly … not freaking out.”

Stiles frowns at his companion, but Danny just sighs.

“Did you freak out? When you found out about Scott?” The young man questions.

Stiles stops, and thinks about that for a minute. He had actually joked about werewolves when Scott had first gotten bitten, but granted, Stiles hadn’t actually known that he  _had_ been turned into a werewolf. After that there was mostly running, and planning to try and save his best friend from being killed, or worse.

“I didn’t really have time to freak out.” Stiles answers honestly, and Danny nods in understanding.

Stiles was glad that Danny didn’t appear to want him to elaborate on that. Scott’s first few turns as a werewolf were, well, trying to say the least. Stiles still hated thinking about it …

“I knew something was going on, and not just with Jackson.”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you knew that werewolves existed?” Stiles asks, and Danny smiles at the ‘you’re kidding me’ look Stiles was sending him.

“No, of course not.”

“But you knew it was something, weird …” Stiles mutters, trailing off as Danny was already nodding.

“Yeah. Plus, it didn’t help that they talked about human sacrifices,  _really_ loudly in the middle of the cafeteria.”

“I knew everyone could hear them!” Stiles exclaims, and Danny laughs.

If Stiles was going to talk to the pack again, he really needed to warn them about having supernatural related conversations in the middle of a crowded high school. Or, he could always just tell Derek …

“We should probably go in …” Danny says suddenly, already gathering up his things, as he nods towards the main entrance to the high school.

Stiles follows his friends gaze, and sees a huge crowd of people beginning to enter the school. “Yeah.” He agrees, not wanting to get swept up in a angry crowd of teenagers. 

The two young humans share one last look, before they both nod, and swing open the doors to the Jeep in unison. The car park was now nearly full, and Stiles had to dodge and weave his way around cars and students as he made his way towards the main building. Just as he and Danny reach the main doors, Stiles hears the tell-tale rumbling of a sports car. He sees the small movement Danny makes, almost as if he were tempted to turn around, but he doesn’t, and so Stiles doesn’t either. Who cares about Jackson’s Porsche anyway?

"I can't believe you forget a pen ..." Danny murmurs, smiling, and Stiles groans loudly.

"Give a guy a break dude! What's that saying, 'to err is human?'"

"Yeah, and 'to forget a pen on the first day of school is stupid.'"

"Harsh, but valid."

Danny laughs loudly, and Stiles can't help but smile as the two young men walk down the corridor, making their way to their lockers. Danny and Stiles' lockers were not placed together, so they had to split up. Danny bids a farewell, promising to meet Stiles in the cafeteria for lunch, before walking down another corridor.

Stiles stops in front of his locker, and glares at it. He hated his locker. He hated where it was, how it was so close to the school bathrooms, and the fact that it never locked probably. Reaching out, Stiles does his special little manoeuvre involving taps and whacks, and the small metal door swings open. The young man busies himself with sorting through his bag and locker, and is so distracted, he doesn't realise he has company until someone taps politely on his shoulder.

“Hi Stiles.” Allison greets, with a warm smile.

Stiles flusters, almost dropping one of the books he was holding, but he manages to crush his bag and books against the lockers, stopping them from sliding to the floor.

“Hey …”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear, do you need this?”

Stiles is confused for a moment, but looking down, he notices that the young Hunter was holding out a single black pen. Stiles shoves his unneeded books into his locker, and closes it with a shoulder.

“Thanks.” He reaches out to take the pen, before quickly tucking it away in his pocket. “You don’t have supernatural hearing as well do you? Because honestly, I think we have enough people who can do that …”

“No. I’m sorry, I was being nosey.” Allison replies, still smiling, but apologetically.

“Well, thanks for the pen.”

Stiles smiles quickly, before swinging his back pack onto his shoulder, and turning away from Allison, and his locker.

“Stiles …” The young man pauses, and turns to look back over his shoulder. Allison was stood, somewhat awkwardly, and Stiles can’t help but stare. Awkward really didn’t suit the young Hunter. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles doesn’t nod, or say anything in response to the apology. He didn’t really know what Allison was apologising for exactly, but he could guess. Stiles doesn’t really know how to respond, and so he just turns, and heads towards his first class. It was Economics, with Isaac and Scott. Great.

Entering the classroom, Stiles immediately makes a bee line for his seat, at the back of the class, but in the middle row. Unfortunately for him, Scott and Isaac enter the room soon after, and make their way to the two empty seats in front of him.

Stiles, who was about to look in his bag for something he didn’t need, suddenly sees Isaac's face, and his mouth falls open.

“Woah …”

“I know.” The young Beta grumbles as he sits down, wincing as he does so.

Scott looks on sympathetically, before starting to sort out his books onto his small desk. He didn’t look worried, so that was a good sign, right?

Stiles still stares as Isaac. He was pale, deathly pale, with dark circles under both his eyes. Stiles knew that werewolves didn’t get sick, at least, not like humans did.

“What the … what …” Stiles stammers, wondering whether Isaac was going to throw up, or collapse. Or maybe it was both …

“Wolfs bane.” Scott answers suddenly, and Stiles kicks himself for not realising that earlier.

“Are you okay?” He asks the young Beta, much to Scott’s surprise, as he looks shocked for a few seconds, before smiling.

“I’m alive.” Isaac mumbles around a raspy throat.

Stiles nods, before turning back to look at Scott. “Is that why you had to leave yesterday?”

“Yeah. We found a …”

“ _We_  being me and Erica.” Isaac interrupts, and Stiles frowns at him.

Sure, he looked like crap, but that didn’t mean he had to be such an ass …

“Isaac and Erica found this weird garden on the outskirts of the woods.” Scott continues, turning away from his Beta to look directly at Stiles. “It had all these different kinds of wolfs bane.”

Suddenly, Stiles realises what Scott was getting at, and he turns slowly to look accusingly at Isaac.

“You didn’t …”

“We didn’t know what it was!” Isaac exclaims, before quickly looking around the room.

Coach had just taken his place at the front of the classroom, but luckily, he hadn’t started the class yet. Stiles leans forward against his desk, and lowers his voice.

“Please tell me you didn’t voluntarily  _eat_ the wolfs bane.”

“No, I didn’t eat anything.” Isaac growls back quietly, before he shrugs. “I just touched it …”

“Much better.” Stiles replies, and Isaac whirls around to glare at the human, and seeing Stiles’ half amused, and half exasperated expression, he growls.

Scott holds out a hand towards his Beta, obviously trying to tell him to calm down. Coach begins to talk about the work set over the Spring Break, and Stiles hears a few of his fellow students groan loudly.

“He’s fine. And Erica didn’t touch anything.” Scott continues, trying to placate Stiles, but he wasn’t  _that_ worried. Did he look worried?

Stiles just smirks, before nodding back towards Isaac.

“At least one of your puppies has some sense …”

Isaac growls loudly in warning again, but before Stiles could reply, or Scott could interject, Coach loudly clears his throat at the front of the room.

“Stilinski, Lahey …” The two young men wince slightly at hearing their Coaches’ stern voice. Stiles can’t help but note that he hadn’t called Scott out as well. “Is there a problem over there?”

“No, no problem Coach.” Stiles answers smoothly, and the man nods in response, before turning back to the white board.

“Good, now, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted …”

Stiles taps his pen against the desk, ignoring the whispering passing between the two werewolves in front of him. Sometimes, he was glad that he was out of all the supernatural drama, and could focus on school, and being a normal teenager.

That being said, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder about this ‘wolfs bane’ garden. Whose was it, and more importantly, what was it doing in the middle of the packs territory?

Well, Stiles argues internally, as Coach begins to make his way around the room to collect the homework, that wasn’t his problem anymore …


	12. Chapter 12

**Tuesday 12th April**

Stiles pushes his peas and potatoes around his plate, tempted to create some sort of ‘food sculpture’ in order to combat his boredom and loss of appetite. Before he has the chance to demonstrate his creativity however, an echo of his mother’s soft voice comes into his head, chiding ‘don’t play with your food’.

Dejected, Stiles places his fork down on the lunch table, and sighs loudly.

“Not hungry?” Danny asks, digging into his mashed potatoes with vigour. For such an athletic guy, he could sure eat.

“Not really.” Stiles replies, before leaning back in his seat and glancing around the packed cafeteria.

Most of the other students were merely minding their own business; chatting and eating, with the occasional basketball or paper aeroplane being thrown around.

Stiles can’t help but envy them all. It must be nice to be an ‘ordinary’ student in high school, with the greatest thing to worry about being homework and assignments being due, rather than worrying which of your friends were going to get killed … or worse.

Stiles casually glances over to a large table at the other end of the room, and sighs once again. Where were they?

Stiles had noticed the absence of the pack as soon as he and Danny had walked into the cafeteria, but he hadn’t said anything. Danny must have spotted that the table usually frequented by the pack was empty as well, but the young man hadn’t even wavered from his path to his and Stiles’ usual spot.

Well, Stiles wasn’t going to talk about it if Danny didn’t want to talk about it.

“So, try outs are tomorrow …” Danny says suddenly, drawing Stiles’ attention back to the table.

“Please don’t remind me.” The young man groans, but Danny just smiles as he reaches to grab his small bottle of water.

“I just did.” Stiles frowns at the joke, not amused in the slightest, and now its Danny’s turn to sigh. “Stiles, it’s going to be fine.”

“I’m not going to make the team.”

Danny scoffs, and places his water bottle back down onto the table. Stiles busies himself with staring at it, avoiding his companions gaze. “Well, not with that attitude.”

“I’m serious Danny.” Stiles continues, tearing his eyes away from the bottle. “There is absolutely no way I am making it onto the team.”

“Stiles, you’re just as good – “

“Danny, there are people with  _supernatural abilities_ trying out for the team. Multiple people.” Stiles argues, purposely keeping his voice as low as possible. (Stiles wanted the pack to take notes.) “My awesome sense of humour and sarcasm can’t really compete with super strength, super speed and super hearing.”

“Super hearing?” Danny questions, before raising an eyebrow.

Stiles isn’t sure whether his friend is amused by his phrase, or worried that his best friend has this rather annoying ability. “Yes, super hearing. What would you call it? ‘Really good hearing’ just sounds stupid.”

Danny laughs lightly and shakes his head, very obviously avoiding the question. Stiles doesn’t blame him. He was still getting to grips with the supernatural, and he had been immersed in it for much longer than Danny.

Stiles turns from the table to look around the cafeteria once again. Tapping a quick rhythm on his legs, the young man tries to see if the pack had merely just switched tables, and were hidden away in another corner of the room. After a quick check though, it was clear that the group wasn’t here.

Stiles couldn’t understand it. Scott and Lydia had been in Biology with him this morning, and Jackson was in his English class that was just before lunch. So the pack was definitely in school, but …

“They’ve probably gone somewhere else to eat lunch.”

Stiles’ head whirls back around to face to Danny so quickly he is worried that he almost got whiplash. “Huh?”

Danny swallows his food, and looks at Stiles with a look that was half pity, and half ‘you’re an idiot’. “They’re probably outside or something. At the bleachers …”

“Oh.” Stiles had no idea why he hadn’t thought of that. After all, sometimes he and Scott would go and eat outside whilst watching the track team train. Or to be completely honest, the cheerleaders.

Stiles was happy with either team.

“So, how did it go yesterday? With Jackson?” Stiles was completely aware that whilst he had had class with Isaac and Scott, Danny had had a class with his supposedly best friend. And they had to sit together at the same desk … Yikes.

“He acted completely normal, as if nothing was different. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.”

“Really?”

“Yep. He asked for a pen, wanted to compare homework …”

Stiles scoffs, and looks heavenward for a moment, before resting his arm on the table. “They really have no idea do they?”

Danny smiles and shakes his head, although the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The two fall into a comfortable silence for a while, with Stiles just looking around, and Danny finishing his food. Once the young man had finished, he stands to tidy away his tray, and Stiles quickly follows. 

“Do you want to go and practice?” Danny asks suddenly, as the two young men make their way out of the cafeteria. 

“Practice?” Stiles, still slightly distracted, and not really paying attention. 

“Yes, practice." Danny says slowly, as is he were talking to a small child. "We have plenty of time left until class, and Lacrosse try outs are tomorrow …”

Stiles, usually one to just hang out in the library until his next class, has to admit that he could probably use all the practice he could get before the try outs. After all, training in the woods can only do so much. “Ok.”

The two humans stop off in the locker rooms before heading out onto the pitch, gathering their kits and Lacrosse sticks. It doesn't escape either of their attention that someone else had been in the locker rooms before them, and also collected Lacrosse gear. Neither of them comment however, before making their way outside. 

The pack are all there once they reach the lacrosse pitch, with Lydia, Erica and Allison sat on the bleachers, and Jackson, Scott, Isaac and Boyd all out on the field.

“Go on Baby!” Erica screams from the stands, just as Boyd runs forward, and takes a shot.

Jackson is quick though, and manages to catch the ball before it hits the back of the net. Lydia immediately stands, and begins to cheer, as Erica and Boyd start angrily waving at each other, looking less than amused.

“Bleurgh couples …” Stiles mumbles, as he drops his bag down by the bleachers, and picks up his stick.

Danny smirks, “Is that jealously I’m detecting Stilinski?”

“Never.” Stiles retorts, and Danny laughs.

The two men share one last look, before nodding, and strolling out onto the field. Stiles can feel all the eyes on him as Danny moves to take his place in the goal, on the other side of the pitch than the pack.

“Danny! Get over here!” Jackson calls suddenly, and Stiles grits his teeth.

Danny though, just smiles and waves. “Sorry man, we’re practising.”

Jackson laughs loudly, and Stiles grips his stick even together as he takes his position in front of the goal.

Hearing the pack chatter, and abandon their own game in favour of watching, Stiles begins to a repeat a mantra in his head as he reaches down, and scoops up the first ball.

_Don’t hit Jackson with a Lacrosse stick, don’t hit Jackson with a Lacrosse stick …_

“Move it Stilinski! Throw!” Isaac calls from the other side of the field, and Stiles grits his teeth once again.

_Don’t hit Isaac with a Lacrosse stick. He’s a werewolf; he’ll break the Lacrosse stick. Lacrosse sticks are expensive …_

Taking a deep breath, Stiles takes a step back, and throws.

It’s a good shot, but Danny is quick, and manages to catch the ball before it enters the net. Stiles just reaches down without pausing, and grabs another ball, ignoring the chatter from the pack.

Just as Stiles is about to throw the next ball, the pack come into his line of vision, and he curses internally, before wondering if he could get Jackson to be a target again …

“Hey guys.” Danny greets, although it is more polite than friendly.

“Wanna team up? 3 against 3?” Scott asks animatedly, his gaze passing quickly from Danny to Stiles.

“Sorry Scott, I gotta practice my throws for tomorrow.”

Scott nods, but Stiles can tell that the young Alpha was disappointed.

“Hey, no worries, you can practice with us!” Isaac says cheerfully, already pointing Jackson over to the goal.

Scott and Danny both move to reply, but Stiles just smiles. “Sounds great.”

Danny leaves the goal as Jackson takes his place instead, and immediately makes his way over to Stiles. “You sure?” The young man asks in a low voice.

Stiles nods, very aware that he is currently surrounded by supernatural creatures who could probably hear  _everything._

“Boyd first! Make a line!” Jackson calls from the goal, and all the pack moves to create a line, with Boyd at the very front.

Stiles sighs, before begrudgingly making his way to the very back of the line. So much for a casual practice with Danny …

Boyd scores, Isaac misses and Scott’s ball is caught by Jackson, who smiles victoriously. Danny moves forward next, and as he readies himself to throw the ball, Stiles suddenly remembers what Derek had told him a few days before.

_“You want to throw it as strongly, and as fast as you can. If I can’t catch it, then the goal keeper definitely can’t.”_

“You’re up Stilinski!” Jackson calls, suddenly snapping Stiles back into reality.

He slowly makes his way to the spot in front the goal, and tries to block out everyone around him.

_Don’t hit Jackson …_

_No, make it look like you’re going to hit Jackson …_

Stiles takes his time, shifting the stick around in his hands, and looking for a good spot to aim for in the back of the net. Jackson just smirks, waiting for Stiles to throw.

Stiles thinks back to what Derek had said. Speed, it was all about speed.

Without a second thought, Stiles brings the stick back, and throws the ball with all the strength and speed he can muster.

He is tempted to not look up after he has thrown the ball, not wanting to see Jackson’s smug face. But instead, when Stiles looks up, he is greeted with Jackson’s wide eyes, and shocked expression.

“He missed! He didn’t catch it!” Boyd calls from behind Stiles, and Isaac laughs.

“Jackson didn't miss, Stiles scored!” Danny exclaims with a laugh, and Stiles turns to smile at his friend.

He almost bursts out laughing when he sees Scott’s face, with his jaw so low it was almost hitting the floor.

“Wanna go again?” Jackson grumbles from the goal, before bending to gather up the ball from the back of the net.

“Nope.” Stiles replies gleefully, turning back to the young Beta. “I think I’m good.”

With a nod in farewell to Scott, and a wave to the girls on the bench, Stiles turns and makes his way back to his and Danny’s belongings near the bleachers.

“That was awesome man!” Danny exclaims, smiling widely, and clapping Stiles on the back as jogs to catch up with him.  

“Why thank you.” Stiles replies, his face split into an abnormally large grin.

Danny smiles himself, before frowning. “Can you stop smiling?”

“Nope.” Stiles says immediately, bending down to pick up his bag.

“Seriously, stop smiling.” Danny laughs, and Stiles shakes his head.

“I can’t!”

The two young men head back into the locker rooms to store their belongings, before making their way out into the school corridor, heading to their next class.

“Who taught you that anyway?” Danny asks conversationally as they reach Stiles’ locker. “I’ve never seen you play like that before.”

“A friend.” Stiles answers. He wonders if Derek would agree with that …

“Well, the way you played just now will get you on the team Stiles. Maybe even first line!” Danny says joyfully, before clapping his companion on the shoulder once again.

“Okay dude, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here …”

“Stiles!”

Stiles turns from his locker, and spots Scott jogging down the corridor towards them. The young Alpha comes to a stop in front of the two humans, his gaze passing between them.

“I’ll just …” Danny points behind himself, and Stiles nods and smiles.

“I’ll meet you in History.”

Danny nods towards Scott in farewell, before turning, and making his way towards the nearby classroom.

Stiles looks over his shoulder, and smiles quickly at Scott.

Well, this was going to be awkward …


	13. Chapter 13

**Wednesday 13th April**

Stiles picks up his battered Lacrosse stick, and slowly walks back over to the bench. It was after school on Wednesday, and that meant only one thing; it was the Lacrosse try outs.

“Lahey! Move it!" Coach calls from the centre of the field, his whistle hanging around his neck. "My dead grandfather can move faster than that!”

“Coach sure has a lot of dead relatives …” Stiles grumbles as he reaches the bench. 

"It's his go - to insult." Danny replies with a smile. "he always says 'my dead grandmother can run faster' or 'my dead uncle can throw further' ..."

"Well, he'll be joining his dead relatives if he doesn't stop yelling at the werewolves ..." Stiles murmurs, before nodding over towards a very angry looking Jackson.  

Danny huffs a laugh as Stiles sits down next to him on the bench, and the two men turn to watch the young Beta’s as they glare at Coach in unison. Stiles sees Scott send Isaac a look in warning, no doubt silently telling him not to use his supernatural speed, no matter how much he was tempted to.

“So, how did it go yesterday?” Danny asks suddenly, and remarkably casually, and Stiles winces internally. He had been hoping that his friend wouldn’t ask about his encounter with the Alpha. “With Scott? You never said.”

“It was …” Stiles trails off, before looking out onto the pitch, and at his wayward best friend. Scott was too busy trying to wrangle his Beta’s to notice that Danny and Stiles were talking about him, and looking his way.

“So, you didn’t speak to him?” Danny questions, sensing no doubt that Stiles wasn’t going to say anything more.

“No." Stiles replies immediately, before correcting himself. "Well yes. Not exactly ...”

“Okay, tell me what happened.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, before recounting his talk with Scott the day before. 

* * *

_"Dude, that was awesome out there!” Scott exclaims, as Stiles turns and opens his locker; partly to distract himself, and partly so he could hide his smirking face._

_‘Yes’ he wanted to say ‘it was awesome!’. Instead, the young man settles for a simple, “Thanks.”_

_“I’ve never seen you make a shot like that before! It was really cool.” Scott continues gleefully, almost bouncing with joy._

_“Thanks.” Stiles says again, before finally closing his locker._

_“Have you been training with someone?” Scott asks, and even though Stiles remains silent, the young Alpha seems to see something in his companion’s expression, as he laughs. “I knew it! Who?”_

_Stiles sighs as he leans up against his locker. Well, it was now or never. “Just a friend.”_

_“Danny?” Scott asks, and before Stiles can even try to form a response, Scott starts nodding, and smiling even wider than before. “It is Danny isn’t it! Lydia was right …”_

_“What? No, it's not Danny.” Stiles wonders what exactly Lydia had been right about, but before he can get into that conversation, he takes a deep breath, and turns to face Scott. “It’s Derek.”_

_Scott’s face does a hundred things at once, before settling on confusion. In any other circumstance, Stiles would have laughed. “Derek?”_

_“Yeah, you know, Derek Hale. Grumpy, beard, werewolf … Ring any bells?”_

_“You’ve been hanging out with Derek.”_

_Stiles gulps slightly at Scott’s harsh tone, before taking a small step backwards. Uh oh … this wasn’t going to be good._

_“Yep.”_

_Stiles swears he sees Scott's eyes change into a golden orange that's just a little bit too close to red for comfort ..._

_“Derek Hale, the person who you told me not to trust, to never be alone with, to kill …”_

_“Okay, okay, lower the octave …” Stiles warns, nodding towards some passing students who were sending the two men some very questioning looks._

_“You can’t be friends with Derek.” Scott growls, at least Stiles notes, in a quieter voice than before._

_“Woah, no one said anything about  ‘friends’ …” Suddenly, Stiles trails off, finally realising what Scott had just said. “Did you just tell me that I can’t be friends with someone?”_

_“Not someone, Derek Hale. He’s definitely not just someone.”_

_“I’m not one of your Beta’s Scott." Stiles growls. Huh, hanging out with werewolves seemed to be rubbing off on him. "You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”_

_“I’m trying to protect you!”_

_“Yeah, I know, you’ve done it before remember. And look how well that turned out …”_

* * *

“Woah.”

Stiles groans, and lowers his head. It really didn’t look like he and Scott were going to be able to have a complete conversation without in ending in a fight, at least for a while. “Tell me about it.”

“And, you just left after that?”

Stiles nods. “I told him I had to get to class, and just left him there, looking like a kicked puppy.”

“Dog jokes; really Stiles?”

“Mahealani, Stilinski!" Coach yells, effectively ending the conversation. "You’re up!”

Danny turns to smile at Stiles, before bending down to collect his Lacrosse stick. “Good luck.”

Stiles can’t help but laugh as he jogs onto the pitch, heading towards the goal, and a very red faced Coach. “I think I’m going to need a little more than luck …”

Coach blows the whistle, even though the team were less than a foot from him, and the group falls into complete silence. Stiles recognises some of his team mates, but also notices a large group of freshmen. Great, now he had even more people to humiliate himself in front of ... At least Lydia, Allison and Erica weren't here. 

“Okay, now you’ve all done this before, it’s not rocket science. Line up, take a shot, get back to the bench. Got it?”

"Yes Coach." Most of the students reply in unison, already looking more than ready to go. 

“We only get one throw?” A shaky voiced freshman asks,

The group of students begin to chatter amongst themselves, mostly using the words ‘unfair’ and ‘impossible’, but Coach just blows his whistle loudly, silencing the group.

“We have a lot of people to try out today gentlemen, and I don’t fancy growing old watching you all throw balls into a net! Form a line. Go!”

Stiles moves to stand next to Danny, and somehow, the two men end up right at the front of the line. Stiles is feeling confident enough, that is until he notices who is in goal. Scott.

Danny is first, and doesn’t manage to score. Most of the other students, no doubt knowing that Danny is one of the schools best players, look surprised, but Stiles knew that Scott was using his supernatural speed to his advantage. After all, he was trying out for the team as well. He needed to stop people scoring as much as everyone else needed to score.  

“Next!”

Stiles takes his position in front of the goal, and scoops up a ball. He knew Scott was faster than Jackson, but he wasn’t going to be faster than Derek …

Stiles throws the ball with all the strength he can muster, ignoring everyone else around him, and even Scott. He  _needed_ to score …

Scott catches the ball.

“Next!” Stiles doesn’t move, despite Coach’s angry order, and just glares at the goal. That was it, he was going to be off the team … “Stilinski, move out the way! One throw each remember.”

Just as Stiles turns away from the goal, he hears Scott call out for people to get back. Confused, Stiles turns, and looks over to the young Alpha, who had run away from the goal, and was pushing all the students back.

The goal was on fire.

“WHAT THE HELL!” Coach explodes, before rapidly blowing his whistle. “Back, everyone back!”

Stiles gawks at the goal, ignoring the feel of someone pulling on his arm, trying to get him to move back. Did he do that?

Stiles pulls his arm from Scott's, and ignores Scott and the rest of the Pack as he quickly marches back to the bench to collect his bag. Danny follows, and picks up his own belongings.  

“We need to leave …”

Stiles doesn’t wait to hear a response from his companion before he marches out of the field, and towards the car park.

“Stiles? Where are we going?”

“To see a friend. He’ll know what the Hell is going on.”

“What about try outs?”

Stiles pauses then as he stands next to his Jeep, looking at a very confused and concerned Danny. The young man sighs, and gestures a hand back towards the pitch in the distance, and the goal that was still on fire.

“You can stay. I’m sorry I have to – “

“No, I’ll come with you.” Danny interrupts, already making his way around the car to the passenger’s side. “You can’t go by yourself.”

“Thank you.”

Danny nods as he puts his bag and Lacrosse stick on the back seat of the Jeep, and Stiles follows before climbing into the driver’s seat.

The ride to Deaton’s is completely silent. Stiles doesn’t even put on the radio. He was too busy thinking about what had just happened. Did he light the goal on fire? But how?! He’d never done anything like that before …

The animel clinic is luckily empty when the two young men arrive, and Deaton is stood behind the desk reading. He looks up when the door swings open, and smiles at Stiles.

“Mr Stilinski.” Deaton greets, closing his book.

“Can we talk?” Stiles says in response, and Deaton must notice the serious tone of voice, as he suddenly stops smiling, and nods.

“Of course, this way gentlemen.”

Stiles and Danny follow Deaton to the back room; a place where Stiles was only too familiar with now, having spent many an hour in there with some of the pack.

“He’s a vet?” Danny whispers to Stiles as they enter the room, and Deaton makes his way to a cupboard on the far side of the small room.

“Not exactly …” Stiles murmurs, just as Deaton turns back around. Stiles gestures to Danny with a small smile. “This is Danny”

“Pleased to meet you Mr Mahealani”

Reaching into his backpack, Stiles grabs the large book Deaton had given him. Stiles walks over to the table in the centre of the room, and loudly drops the large book on it. It loudly thuds as it hits the table, but Deaton doesn’t seem annoyed. If anything, he seems like he had been expecting as much.

“What happened?” The vet asks casually, before moving forward to collect the book.

“He set the goal on fire during practice.” Danny responds, before Stiles has a chance to, and the young man turns to glare at his friend, who just smiles.

“Interesting …” Deaton muses, before opening and flicking through the book.

“Hey, we don’t know it was actually me.” Stiles argues, and Danny just raises an eyebrow at him in response.

“Did you see anyone else glaring at the goal when it spontaneously caught fire?”     

“No …” Stiles admits begrudgingly, and Danny smiles.

Suddenly, Deaton places the book back onto the table with a thud, and both Danny and Stiles turn to look at the man. Deaton waves a hand, inviting Stiles to move forward, and he does.

“Berstuk in Wendish mythology, Äbädä in Serbian mythology, Basajaun in Basque mythology …”

“Okay, not to hurry you or anything but …” Stiles looks up from the book, a questioning look on his face as he gazes at Deaton. Obviously, the man was trying to walk Stiles to an epiphany, but he really wasn’t in the mood.

“In Slavic, or Polish mythology, it’s known as a Leshy, or – “

“Wild man.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow, and Stiles looks back down at the open page, noticing the small sketch in the corner. “You’ve heard of it?” The vet questions, and Stiles nods. 

“My mum, she used to tell me stories about them. So I’m a – “

“No Stiles, you’re not a Leshy.” Deaton interrupts, sounding more amused than anything.

Stiles grits his teeth, before moving away from the table, and looking up at the man. “Then what the hell …”

“You have ancestors Mr Stilinski, who would call themselves Leshy." Deaton interrupts, "It wouldn’t surprise me if you also had a witch or two in your family tree, considering what you can do.”

Deaton moves forward then, before flicking the book open to another page. Stiles starts to think that maybe he should have studied the ancient book for longer than he did …

“Why do you know about this?” Stiles questions, as Deaton leaves the book open on a page about witches.

“Talia Hale. She asked me to start some research after your family moved to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles frowns at that, and looks up from the book. Stiles hadn't even been born when his mother and father had moved to Beacon Hills. “Why?”

Deaton just shrugs. “She was curious.”

“About me?” Stiles questions, and Deaton smiles.

“No, about your mother. Claudia caught her interest.”

“Why? She was just a human … “

Deaton tilts his head, as if he were thinking, before looking back at Stiles with a small smile. “She could do certain things. Certain things humans couldn't do.”

“She couldn’t stop herself from dying.”

Stiles shuts the book and moves away from the table. He ignores the look of sympathy from Danny, and tries not to think too much about his mother. Crying wouldn’t help anything …

“The Leshy were a peaceful race Stiles. They cared for forest and woodland. They weren’t the kind of people who could combat something as deadly as a human illness.”

“Were?” Danny questions from his place in the corner of the room. Once again, Stiles was impressed at how well the young man managed to keep himself together, considering he was learning about supernatural creatures.

“Yes. Sadly, there are no longer any Leshy left alive.”

“What happened?” Danny questions, and Stiles looks curiously at the Emissary stood opposite the two young men.

Deaton smiles sadly, before he shrugs. “Humans.”

* * *

Stiles types and searches furiously on his laptop, trying to find some more information on Leshy. He clenches his jaw, and grits his teeth as he scrolls endlessly through the search results, listening all the while to the sound of Danny typing on his own computer from his own bedroom. This was definitely a two man job.

After a while, Stiles stumbles onto a new website and eagerly opens it. He quickly scans through the page, trying to find any information that he and Danny hadn’t read already.

“Found anything new?” A crackling voice asks from the mobile phone placed on the desk.

Stiles shakes his head, before he remembers that Danny can’t actually see him, and that he should probably speak out loud. He sighs, before answering. “I don’t think so.”

“I haven’t found anything either.” Danny replies, sounding tired, and fed up himself. “Are we sure that these ‘Leshy’ actually existed?”

Stiles laughs once, before closing the website on Polish mythology. He leans back into his chair with another sigh, before reaching forward to collect his phone. Taking Danny off speaker phone, Stiles holds the mobile up to his ear.

“I’m _pretty_ sure Deaton wasn’t just kidding about the whole thing.” Stiles answers honestly, only mostly joking.

Stiles still, after knowing the man for nearly a year, couldn’t decide whether or not he trusted, or even liked Deaton. It was hard to like a man as strange and obtuse as the vet after all. He always seemed to know the answers to every supernatural problem, and that made Stiles very wary of the man. The fact that he was wary of Deaton was also cause for concern. He was right about Matt after all. Stiles seemed to have a knack for noticing peculiar people …

“Yeah, he didn’t seem like the ‘joking’ kind of guy.” Danny answers, pulling Stiles’ attention back to the conversation. “Is he always like that?”

Stiles can’t help but smirk into the phone. “Mostly, yes.”

“Well, at least he gave you something to work on …”

Stiles grumbles then, loudly, before turning to his bedroom window. On the windowsill was the small plant that Deaton had kindly gifted to him. Or should he say, dead plant.

“I still don’t get what I’m supposed to do." Stiles argues, glaring at the flora decorating his windowsill. "It’s dead dude. As in, dead.”

“Yeah, I know Stiles, I saw it." Danny answers, and Stiles thinks he hears the smile in his friends voice. "But like you said, he wouldn’t give you it if he didn’t think that it was important. Just give it a try. You never know, it might work. Stranger things have happened ...”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at that. "You mean like werewolves and kanimas and banshees?"

"Exactly."

“I guess you're right …” Stiles mumbles, still looking at the plant.

It was more of a twig actually; just a stick in its own small pot, without a single hit of green. Deaton had assured Stiles that, with practice, he should be able to make the flower bloom. Not bring it back to life, Deaton had been very clear on that. The vet was actually very insistent in telling Stiles he wasn’t, and couldn’t, bring anything back to life …

“I did a school project when I was a kid where I sang to a plant.”

Stiles can’t help but ask, “Did it work?”

“It grew, but that’s kinda what plants do.”

“Not this one.” Stiles insists, standing up from his desk to get a closer look at his ‘stick’. “This one is gone. Never to return. Kaput. Deaton’s going to be sorely disappointed if he wanted a new plant to brighten up his office …”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Danny continues, ignoring Stiles’ sarcasm. “At least your hand is fine now.”

Stiles can’t help but look down at his hand as Danny mentions it. Deaton had checked it just before the two boys had left, and if Stiles was honest, he had forgotten about it until the man had mentioned it. The dissolvable stitches were completely gone, it was no longer red or irritated, and all that was left of the injury was a thin red scar.

Stiles puts his hand in his pocket, before walking back over to his desk to turn off his computer. He needed some sleep …

“Thanks for the help Danny, but I think we should call it a night.”

“You sure? We can keep looking?”

Stiles smiles once more into the phone, but doesn’t stop himself from shutting down his computer.

Danny was a good friend, and as soon as he had gotten home, he had called Stiles and suggested that they both do some research into the information Deaton had given them. Stiles had only been too eager to research, but actually trying to find anything on these strange Leshy was easier said than done.

“It’s good. I think I got most of the info that there is.”

“Yeah, apparently, you’re related to a …” Stiles hears Danny fumble around on the other end of the phone, before the man starts speaking once again. “ _male woodland spirit who protects wild animals and forests._ ” Danny recites, and Stiles looks heavenward for a moment.

“My life is weird …”

“Yeah it is.” Danny agrees, and for a moment Stiles thinks that Danny is finally going to have his ‘Oh my god werewolves a real!’ breakdown, but it doesn’t come. Instead, his friend just sighs. “Good night Stiles, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Stiles clicks off the phone, and stares at his black computer screen for a moment.

His life really was weird.

So weird in fact, that he doesn’t even flinch when he hears the familiar sound of an Alpha werewolf climbing in through his bedroom window.

“I thought we were past the point of sneaking through windows …” Stiles murmurs, before spinning his chair around to face Derek. “You know, I have a front door.”

Derek was looking his usual surly self, in jeans and his favourite leather jacket. A few spots of rain clung to his head and shoulders, and he quickly runs a hand through his short black hair, sending beads of rain flying. Stiles frowns in annoyance.

“I heard you in your room.” Derek answers simply, not making a move to walk further into the bedroom.

Well, at least he had the decency to wait for an invitation to sit down. All though, Stile thinks that is rather moot after the man had snuck into his bedroom.

“You could’ve knocked on the door …” Stiles continues to protest, watching as the man lingers near the window. Suddenly, Derek moves to the side, his arm brushing against the plant on the windowsill. “Dude, careful!”

Stiles dashes forwards, but of course, Derek is quicker. He catches the plant easily before it hits the floor, and holds it out to Stiles. The young man takes it, and places it back on the window sill, trying to ignore the questioning look he was getting.

“What is that?” Derek asks, looking at the plant like he had never seen anything like it before.

“It’s mine, and you almost broke it. Rude.”

“It’s a stick.” Derek replies, deadpan, and Stiles grits his teeth.

“It’s a plant, smartass.” Stiles defends, surprising even himself. Well, _he_ was allowed to call it a stick, because it was his stick.

“It’s a _dead_ plant.” Derek continues, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles had to agree, it did look pretty strange to have a stick in a pot, sitting pride of place in the middle of the window sill. Well, Stiles was a strange guy, so he thinks it suits him.

“Well, I agree with you, it’s dead, but Deaton seems to think –“

“You went to go and see Deaton?” Derek interrupts, finally making his way further into the room.

Stiles watches as the Alpha stands awkwardly in the centre of the room for a few moments, before making his way over to Stiles’ office chair. He sits himself down, before turning to face the double bed. Stiles sighs, before marching over to his bed, and sitting himself down. Just to annoy Derek, he suddenly stands and pulls back the overs, before getting into the bed fully, and tucking himself in.

Well, if Derek wanted to barge into his room at night …   

“So, what’s with the plant?” The Alpha asks, after he had rolled his eyes at his companion’s antics.

Stiles just waves a flippant hand in the direction of the stick. “It’s part of my ‘figuring out what Stiles is’ thing. Deaton wants me to -”

“Water it?” Derek interrupts, deadpan once again.

Sourwolf should become Sarcasticwolf ... 

Stiles rolls his eyes, before crossing his arms over his chest. He thinks for a minute about what Deaton had said earlier, before deciding to just give Derek the main points. After all, this was his problem, not the packs. “He wants me to save it. Make it bloom.”

Derek’s eyes widen at that, before he looks back over towards the pot on the window sill. “He really thinks you can do that?”

Stiles shrugs. “Apparently.”

Derek just nods.

Stiles wonders then why the Alpha had come to see him. He hadn’t known that he had seen Deaton, and surely he could have waited until tomorrow if he just wanted to check up on how the research was going …

“How’s your hand?”

Stiles tries to keep his expression blank, but he’s not sure that he manages it.

He clears his throat, and shifts himself around in his bed. “Fine. Actually, it’s awesome.” Stiles holds up his hand to show Derek, and the Alpha looks at it closer as the young man flexes it, and moves it around. “Completely healed.”

Derek nods, apparently appeased.

The two men sit in silence for a few moments, but Stiles is surprised to notice that its not at all awkward. After what had happened with Jackson, Stiles had only really spent time with Derek in the woods, or when they had been talking about the book Deaton had given him. 

Was it that Derek was actually interested in Stiles, and not just interested in Scott's best friend ... Although, Stiles wonders if he can even call himself that now. 

“So, you talked to Scott?”

Bingo. Derek was here to talk about Scott.

Stiles sighs loudly, before asking, “What did he tell you?”

Derek smirks, and its so unexpected, that Stiles just stares at the Alpha, forgetting for a moment that he is supposed to be annoyed. 

“My Beta’s came to the Loft with the news that you had set the Lacrosse goal on fire.”

Stiles winces. “We don’t actually know if that was me ..”

“And that you scored a goal against Jackson.”

“That one _was_ me. All me, totally me!” Stiles exclaims, pumping his fists into the air in victory, and smiling widely.

"He didn't stop talking about it for the entire afternoon."

"Good." Stiles replies, still smiling. "It serves him right for being such a -"

Suddenly, Stiles stops speaking, and clamps his lips together. Derek frowns, before tilting his head. "Such a what?"

"Nothing." Stiles says quickly, wondering if he just covered himself with his blankets, Derek would take the hint and go away.

"You were going to say something about Jackson ..." Derek prompts, not letting the conversation go.

Stiles sighs. He looks out of his bedroom window, avoiding the Alphas eyes. "It's not really fair on you if I bitch about your Beta's."

Derek looks surprised at Stiles' comment, and the young man can't help but wonder what the Alpha thought he was going to say.

"Stiles, Jackson is my Beta. That doesn't mean he's suddenly stopped becoming a jackass."

Stiles tries  _really_ hard to stop himself from laughing, but he can only hold his amusement in for a few seconds.

"Well, I'm off the team ..." Stiles says suddenly, throwing his arms up into the air, and acting nonchalant even though he was feeling anything but. 

"Why?" Derek asks, sounding actually curious, and not like he was just asking to be polite. 

Stiles frowns, and looks over at his companion as if the answer were obvious, and he was an idiot not to see that. "Dude, I set the goal on fire. And before that, I didn't even score."

"You scored against Jackson ..." Derek argues. 

"That was before practice. Coach wasn't even there to see it."

Derek nods, before tilting his head, as if he were contemplating something. "Well, if you want more practice ..."

It takes Stiles a few seconds to realise what the Alpha was offering, and he frowns in confusion ... 

"You'd practice with me again?"

"Yes." Derek answers immediately, before looking at Stiles closely, as it he was trying to figure out his reaction. "Did it help?"

"Yeah, it really did." Stiles answers honestly, remembering how he had managed to score against Jackson. 

The Alpha nods, before he suddenly reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls something out. "Here." Derek places down a small piece of paper on the desk, and before Stiles can even ask him about it, he stands up. "I'll let you get some sleep." 

Without another word, Derek moves over to the bedroom window, and carefully avoiding the plant, swings himself outside. 

Stiles waits until he hears footsteps moving away from the house before getting up to close the window. It's only on the way back to his bed that Stiles picks up the piece of paper the Alpha had left. He only freaks out for a few minutes about the fact that _Derek gave him his number,_ before exhaustion wins, and drifts off to sleep.  


	14. Chapter 14

**Thursday 14th April**

It was yet another miserably rainy day in Beacon Hills, with the grey sky and dark clouds setting a gloomy atmosphere over the busy High School.

Stiles was in class, not paying attention to anything in particular; not even the unseasonal weather. Rain pelted against the windows of the chemistry classroom, and most of the students were wrapped in large jumpers or hoodies, which was slightly odd for this time of year.

Stiles switches from his pen over to his blue highlighter, and begins to colour in the pretty rubbish picture he had drawn of an angry looking wolf. He was supposed to be listening to his chemistry teacher, Mr Harris, blabber on about what they would be studying this semester, but no matter how hard he tried, Stiles just couldn’t concentrate.

Or maybe, it wasn’t that he _couldn’t_ concentrate, it was that he was having trouble thinking about anything other than supernatural creatures, and the fact he was related to one. Or maybe he was even related to several; Deaton had been pretty vague about that.

Stiles sighs down at his collection of doodles, before deciding that if he was going to procrastinate by doodling, then he was at least going to finish some of his pictures. As he begins to colour in the wolves sharp blue eyes, Stiles hears a small huffed laugh from next to him. The young man looks over to see Danny smirking down at his chemistry book. Stiles smiles back, before resuming working on his masterpiece.

Before he can finish doodling the lamppost for the wolf to relieve itself on however, Stiles hears the distinct sound of Mr Harris clearing his throat. He freezes, his pen hovering above his book.

“Mr Stilinski?”

Stiles looks up from his book slowly, very purposely keeping his arms in front of his doodles; shielding it from the pack of werewolves that were sitting nearby more so than his chemistry teacher. After all, the worst Harris would do was give him detention. Jackson, Boyd and Isaac on the other hand, might not find his pictures that funny ... 

“Erh … yeah?” Stiles asks casually, and Harris glares in response. 

If Stiles wasn't so used to being singled out by the terrifying teacher, then he might have gulped. 

“I will remind you once again that what you have in front of you is a chemistry book, not a colouring book.”

A couple of the class snicker as Stiles loudly and begrudgingly drops his highlighters and pens onto his desk, and looks up towards the annoyed and frowning chemistry teacher who was stood at the front of the classroom.

Stiles isn’t in the mood to answer back, or even to try and come up with a sarcastic comment. Instead he mutters a simple, “Sorry.”

Harris frowns for a moment, almost as if he was expecting Stiles to say something else, or at least pull some sort of face. When he doesn’t the teacher sighs, before continuing.

“As I was saying, this semester you will be working on a project in groups of three …”

“You okay?” Danny whispers to his companion, not turning his head around to look at the young man sitting next to him in case Harris was watching. 

Stiles just nods. He couldn't even think of anything to say in response to that question. 

He looks back down at his text book, and notices with some surprise and confusion that he hasn’t just drawn any wolf. The black haired and blue eyed beast looks strikingly like someone he knows … although he can't quite figure out who. 

“So, the groups will be as follows …”

Stiles’ head shoots up quickly; suddenly he was extremely interested in what was being said by his teacher.

He knew a lot of the people in his chemistry class, but really didn’t want to be working with someone who was in the pack. That would just be beyond awkward.

Lydia was sat on one of the desks at the front of the room next to Erica, and behind them were Boyd and Isaac. Then, at the back of the room were Scott and Jackson, who were already casting looks over to the other members of the pack as if to say, ‘this is going to be awesome’. Stiles wishes he could share their optimism. Stiles was never paired with anyone good, or anyone that he even knew for that matter.

Suddenly, Danny taps on Stiles’ shoulder to get his attention, and winks when Stiles finally looks over towards his companion and meets his eyes.

Yeah, sure thing Danny, Stiles thinks to himself bitterly. The only teacher in Beacon Hills who absolutely hated Stiles was going to put him in a group with his friend. That was as likely as it snowing; in the classroom. 

As Harris reaches over towards his desk to grab his list of the groups, Stiles keeps repeating another mantra over and over again in his head.

_Not Scott, not Scott, not Scott … please anyone but Scott. I would rather work with anyone in this classroom apart from Scott._

Well actually, that wasn’t entirely true, Stiles thinks, before he quickly changes his mantra.

_Not Scott or Jackson. Please don’t group me with Scott or Jackson._

Mr Harris clears his throat, before raising a hand and pointing to some of the students. To Stiles' surprise, the man immediately gestures over to Scott. Stiles holds his breath ... 

“Scott McCall, Nichola Brunelli and Mason Richmond.” Harris says calmly, gesturing that the three students should move onto a bench next to each other.

As Scott stands and collects his belongings, Stiles releases a breath. 

Phew.

Stiles knew Nichola from when they were younger, and she was nice enough. Mason was a bit of a jackass, but he was smart. Scott was probably going to do pretty well with his group on the project. The rest of the pack seemed to think the same thing, as most of them almost seemed to almost ‘deflate’ after hearing they wouldn’t be working with their alpha.

“Danny Mahealani, Jessica Morgan and …”

Me! Stiles thinks furiously, almost tempted to shoot his arm up into the air. Much good it would do him ... 

“Christian Berkins.”

Danny smiles quickly towards Stiles, almost apologetically, before grabbing his bag and moving to sit with his group. Stiles actually pouts when his friend gets up, causing Danny to laugh quietly, and pat him on the back as he walks away. 

Well, that meant that Stiles could only hope that he wouldn’t be paired with anyone from the pack. It was unlikely, especially considering that Harris must think they were still friends, and wouldn’t put Stiles with his friends.

He was pure evil after all. 

“Issac Lahey, Daniel Johnson and Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles' eyes widen in his head as he hears his name being called. True, he hadn't been put with Jackson (thank whatever deity had answered his prayers) but working with Isaac? That was surely not going to go well ...

Stiles dejectedly grabs his bag, and moves from his desk, no longer listening to Harris and the other names that he calls out.

Reaching his group table, Stiles immediately sits down next to Daniel, who he barely knew. He wishes he didn't after just a few seconds. Was that weed he was smelling?

"Hey dude! This is going to be awesomesauce!"

Yep, definitely weed Stiles thinks, as he moves just a little bit further away from his smiling companion.

"That's not a word." A gruff voice says, and Stiles looks up just in time to see Isaac slide into one of the seats opposite Stiles and his fragrant companion. 

“Dude, it is totally a word.” Daniel smiles, and Stiles moves just a little bit further away. “It’s Isaac right?”

“Yeah.” The young man replies coldly, and Stiles raises an eyebrow at the beta.

Sure, Isaac didn’t really like Stiles, but that didn’t mean he had to be an ass to everyone. After all, Daniel was just trying to be friendly. 

Suddenly, the room goes silent, and Mr Harris takes his place yet again at the head of the room.

“Now, each group will be given a topic from this –“

“Wishing you were with Scott?” Stiles asks his werewolf companion quietly, careful not to be overheard by Harris, who was muttering something about ‘working as a team’.  

“No.” The beta answers immediately, a scowl on his face.  

Stiles just raises an eyebrow, not believing the young beta in the slightest. “Really?”

“Let’s just get this over with …” Isaac growls, just as Harris stops speaking, and begins to hand out some paper to the groups.

“Woah, dudes, I’m sensing a lot of tension.” Daniel murmurs, before holding both his hands up in between the two young men. “Just relax.”

Isaac looks ready to growl once again, and so Stiles quickly smiles, and shakes his head. The last thing he needed was Isaac upsetting a civilian; especially a civilian that they were going to have to work with for the rest of the semester.  

“Nope, no tension here. Were fine.” Stiles placates, smiling at Isaac, who just glares. 

“Cool. Cool. That’s cool.” Daniel replies, smiling widely once again, and leaning back in his chair. 

“Can a member from each group come to the front to collect their paperwork.” Harris announces to the classroom, and before Stiles can even say a word in response, Daniel is clambering out of his chair.

“Dudes I got this …” Stiles nods, and Daniel walks away, still smiling. 

He is definitely on something ... Stiles thinks. Still, he seemed nice enough, and pretty harmless; especially considering all the other things that Stiles had to contend with over the years. 

“We’re going to fail.” Isaac mumbles, as he watches Daniel make his way over to Harris.

Stiles sighs, and turns back towards Isaac with what he hopes is a genuine smile. “Think positive thoughts.”

Isaac pauses for a moment, before sighing. “I was already failing …” Stiles frowns, about to say something along the lines of 'that's not positive', but he doesn't have the chance. 

Just then, Daniel gets back to the table, and all but falls into his seat. It's loud enough that a couple of students turn to look, but Stiles just ignores it. 

Suddenly, the young man feels someone looking over at him, and turns around to find Danny gazing at him from across the room. 

‘ _You ok?’_ Danny mouths, and Stiles nods in response. 

Danny raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, and so Stiles smiles, before gesturing his head over towards Daniel. ‘ _Crazy_ ’ he mouths before nodding over towards Isaac, who was glaring at their human group mate like he was the worst thing he had ever seen.

Danny shrugs, a gesture that Stiles knows is basically an ‘I know it sucks, but what can you do’.

Stiles smiles, before turning his attention back to his table.

Yeah, it did kinda suck, but hey, it could be worse. Much worse. 

* * *

After school, Stiles drives his Jeep to the local fast food takeout, and orders two cheeseburgers, two cans of Coke and an extra portion of curly fries for himself. He figures he’ll treat his Dad with something other than a veggie burger, and even through in a full fat Coke, but he isn’t going to get him curly fries on top of all that. After all, he wanted to treat his father, not give him a heart attack.

Stiles simply waves over towards Deputy Graeme as he enters the building, and she waves back, too busy speaking on the phone to talk. Stiles didn’t mind. He liked Tara well enough, but he just wasn’t in the mood to stop and chat today. The young man weaves around officers and deputies until he reaches the Sheriff’s office, and Stiles opens the door without knocking.  

The Sheriff looks surprised when Stiles appears in his office, but even more so when the young man drops a greasy paper bag on his desk.

“Don’t get used to it.” Stiles clarifies as he takes his place opposite the Sheriff at the table. “It’s a once-in-a-while thing.”

The Sheriff drops the file he had been reading on a pile in the corner of the room, before making his way over to the desk, and the greasy paper bag. Opening it, his eyebrows rise, and he looks over at his son.

“What’s the occasion?” The Sheriff asks, almost suspiciously, as he reaches in the bag to grab his cheeseburger. Stiles cracks open a can of Coke, and smiles innocently up at his father.

“No occasion.” Stiles answers, as he reaches forward to grab a handful of curly fries. “Just felt like getting us something greasy for a change.”

The Sheriff nods, apparently mollified that his son didn’t have some sort of ulterior motive for getting him takeout, before taking his seat behind his desk.

Stiles and his father eat in silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company, but Stiles knows it’s not going to be long before his father is going to start asking him questions.  

“How was school?”

Stiles smirks down at his burger. He knew it, there was no way the Sheriff was not going to investigate the reasoning behind Stiles suddenly turning up with an extremely unhealthy burger.

“Good. I handed in my economics paper this morning.”

“Coach impressed?” The Sheriff asks, and Stiles shrugs.

“I have no idea. But he didn’t roll his eyes or anything when he read the title, so that’s a pretty good sign.”

“Well, it wasn’t about circumcision this time …”

“Hey! That was an interesting paper, and I did loads of research for it.”

“But you didn’t pass …”

Stiles grimaces. Yeah, that was true, he had failed that assignment. But weirdly, Coach had let him redo the entire paper. Cleary, Finstock had been in a very good mood that day. Either that, or he was remembering the few times that Stiles had managed to score a goal in a Lacrosse game.

“What about your other subjects?” The Sheriff asks, and Stiles turns back to his father. “All good so far?

“Yeah. Oh and that reminds me,” Stiles replies, sitting just a little higher up in his chair. “I got put in a new group in chemistry. We have to work together for the entire semester.”

“Well, you’ve always done well in chemistry.”

For some reason, Stiles doesn’t say anything else. True, he had always done well in chemistry, but somehow he thinks that working with Isaac wasn’t going to help him more than hinder him. The Sheriff reaches forward for his own drink, and Stiles starts shoving more curly fries into his face, trying to fill the silence.

“So, how did try outs go the other day? You never said.”

Stiles chews his food for a few seconds, avoiding answering the question. It wasn’t as if he could say that the try-outs had been stopped after a few minutes because he had set the goal on fire. Or at least, he  _thinks_ he set the goal on fire.

“Okay.”

The Sheriff just raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just okay?”

Stiles nods, and scrunches up his cheeseburger wrapper into a ball, before reaching over to place it in the takeout bag. All the while, he was thinking of something to tell his father about the try-outs that wouldn’t land him in serious trouble.

“Everyone only got one try to get a goal, and I missed.”

“Just one?” Stiles’ father asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised.

Stiles can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. There were a load of freshmen there this year. I guess Coach wasn’t in the mood to spend forever trying people out.”

The Sheriff nods, but he doesn’t look as worried about the whole thing as Stiles. “Well, you have been on the team for two years Stiles.” The Sheriff reasons, and Stiles tilts his head as he contemplates that. “I’m sure Coach isn’t going to forget that in a hurry just so he can put a few freshmen on the team.”

“Yeah …”

Suddenly, a polite knock sounds on the door, and Stiles and his father both turn simultaneously towards the doorway. The Sheriff calls out for the person to come in, and the door opens. A young man peaks his head into the office, holding a police file in one hand.

“Sheriff, sorry to interrupt, but I have that report you wanted.”

“Thank you Parrish.” The Sheriff says, holding out a hand to except the file. He flicks it open quickly, and Stiles takes the time to inspect the man stood in the office. Parrish? Stiles remembers his father talking about him; the new deputy. Suddenly, the Sheriff places the file down onto the table, and gestures over to Stiles. “This is my son, Stiles. Stiles, this is our new deputy, Jordan Parrish.”

“Hey.” Stiles greets, raising one hand in an awkward wave. He figured that would be better than offering his one of his greasy hands for a handshake.

Jordan inclines his head, and smiles, seeming less nervous than he had when he initially stepped into the room. “Nice to meet you.”

“Let me know if you need any help out there Parrish.”

“We’re okay for now Sheriff. Enjoy your burgers.” The deputy answers with another smile, before looking down towards where Stiles was sat. “It was nice to meet you Stiles. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Stiles replies, just as Parrish turns to walk out of the office.

Stiles waits until the door swings shut, before turning back to his father. “He seems nice.”

“He is, and he’s an excellent deputy.”

“Cool …”

The Sheriff nods, and Stiles nods in return. Sometimes, Stiles really did see why so many people said the two were alike.

Suddenly, the man’s expression changes, and he looks over at his son with a serious expression. “You sure everything’s alright?”

Shocked at the sudden change, Stiles can’t help but frown. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, the greasy food is kinda a warning sign, but you also seem a little off.”

Stiles sighs, and sinks back into his chair. It wasn’t particularly comfy, but Stiles had the special skill of being able to get comfortable enough to sleep anywhere. “I’m still not really talking to Scott.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“I still don’t really know what went on between you two.”

Stiles sighs again, and huffs a laugh. “Honestly, me neither.”

“Is this still about him not inviting you to go camping?” The Sheriff asks, as he begins to gather up some his litter, and place it into the paper bag that Stiles had brought.

“A little bit, but it’s more than that.”

The Sheriff just waits for Stiles to say more, but the young man honestly didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t going to tell his father about all the ‘supernatural’ stuff. At least, not until he  _really_ had to. He hoped that he would never have to.

“He told me that I couldn’t hang out with someone, a friend.”

“Danny?” The Sheriff questions, sounding slightly confused, and Stiles shakes his head in response.

“No, not Danny.”

“Then who?”

Taking a deep breath, Stiles decides that it would probably be better to tell his father the truth. Or at least, as much of the truth as he could without saying the word ‘werewolves’.

“He doesn’t want me to hang out with Derek.”

“Derek? Derek Hale?”

“Yeah.”

The Sheriff looks as if he is contemplating this for a few seconds, but after a while, he looks back towards his son. Stiles nearly gulps, remembering suddenly that his father had arrested Derek in the past. Well, he didn’t seem to have any bad feelings towards him that night that Derek had driven him home … In fact, his father had seemed to be more annoyed at him than the Alpha.

“What’s Scott got against Derek?” The Sheriff asks after a while, and Stiles just shrugs, and pulls a face that probably didn’t help answer his father’s questions. “Except for the fact that you and him nearly got the kid put in jail…”

“Okay firstly, Derek has totally forgiven us for that whole thing. It’s water under the bridge. And secondly, Derek is not a kid.”

“Fair enough.” The Sheriff answers, smirking slightly.

“Scott just doesn’t think I should hang out with him. I don’t think that he trusts him.”

Now that was true. Stiles just didn’t get that Scott trusted Derek enough to make him his Alpha, but not enough to let Stiles hang out with him.

Werewolves man … and their weird werewolf politics. Stiles’ head was beginning to hurt.

“I didn’t really know you and Derek were that close.”

“Were not really … close.”

“Then what are you?”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth, looking comically like a fish. The Sheriff just sits silently, and waits for a reply from his son.

“He’s just always seemed to be … there. He keeps me company when I go out, he’s helped me practice for Lacrosse, he drove me home that night there was that storm …”

“He seems like a nice enough guy.” The Sheriff murmurs, clearly wondering about Scott’s motivation to not want Stiles and Derek hang out together.

“Yeah, he is. He’s a good guy.” Stiles’ eyes widen when he realises what he had just said, and he huffs another laugh. “I can’t believe I just said that about  _Derek Hale._  Please never tell him I said that. Or tell anyone I said that.”

The Sheriff smiles for a moment, amused, before his expression changes once again. He takes a deep breath, and leans his elbows on the desk in front of him. Oh no, Stiles thinks, that’s his ‘about to say something important’ pose …

“When I was your age I had friends in High School that I had known for a very long time. They were my best friends, who I thought that I would be friends with forever.”

“Very poetic Dad …”

“Stiles,” The Sheriff chastises, and Stiles clamps his lips together. “My point is, people change, and drift apart. Sure, you and Scott have been friends for a long time, but it might not be that way forever. You’re your own person, and your both bound to change.”

Oh, you have no idea about Scott ‘changing’, Stiles thinks, trying very hard not to let any of his thoughts show on his face.

“You don’t think I should try and work it out with him?” Stiles asks, and the Sheriff sighs once again.

“Of course I do, but only because I want to see you happy Stiles. Sure, I really like Scott, but you’re my son, and you come first.”

“Thanks Dad.” Stiles replies, smiling.

His father though wasn’t smiling, and he suddenly looks much more like the stern Sheriff than he did before. “That doesn’t mean I’m thrilled about you hanging out with Derek Hale, but if he makes you happy …”

“Wait, what’s wrong with me hanging out with Derek?” Stiles asks suddenly, and he wonders for a moment where the need to be so defensive about the werewolf had come from.

“You mean apart from the fact that he has a police record?” The Sheriff replies with a raised eyebrow. “He’s a lot older than you Stiles. I’d just like you to have friends your own age.”

“I have Danny.” Stiles replies instantly, and he really means it.

“That’s good.”

“And I have my new chemistry partner. Daniel.”

“Daniel Johnson?” The Sheriff asks, his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah.” Stiles answers, before he frowns. Did he mention his last name before or something? “Wait, how’d you know his name? Do you know him?”

“Everyone in this station knows him.” The Sheriff answers with a sigh, and Stiles can’t help but laugh.

He knew he’d smelt something on that kid … 

Suddenly, the office door opens, and once again Parrish pokes his head into view.

“Sheriff, sorry to interrupt again, but there’s an urgent phone call for you.”

“Thank you Parrish, I’ll be right out.”

The door shuts, and Stiles is already on his feet, grabbing all of the litter to throw away on his way to the Jeep.

“Don’t worry about it Dad, I’m heading home. Got plenty of work to do.”

“Okay …” The Sheriff replies. “And Stiles …”

“Yeah?” Stiles answers, already halfway out of the office.

“If you ever need to talk, about Scott, or Derek, you know I’ll always be here right?”

Stiles smiles, and nods his head. “Yeah, I know Dad. Thanks.”

“Good. And thanks for the food.” The Sheriff says, before reaching over to grab his phone, and take the urgent call. 

“You’re welcome." Stiles replies quietly, turning to open the door. "But it’s back to the diet tomorrow.”

The Sheriff sighs loudly, just as Stiles shuts the door to the office behind himself, but he hears his father through the closed door when he mutters, “I knew I should have stolen some of the curly fries.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Friday 15th April**

Stiles shoots bolt upright, panting rapidly, and nearly falling out of his bed as he startles awake. Turning his head around the bedroom rapidly, Stiles finally spots the source of the terrible and shrill sound, and glares at it.

Stupid alarm clock, the young man thinks as he tries to calm his rapidly beating heart. Why do they even make them that loud?

Reaching over, Stiles repeatedly hits the machine until the incessant and annoying beeping stops. Breathing a sigh a relief after the noise finally ceases, the young man sinks back down under his bed covers, trying to enjoy the warmth and comfort for just a little bit longer.

Suddenly, footsteps sound just outside his bedroom door, and Stiles groans out loud.

The Sheriff knocks on the door twice, before slowly pushing it open, and peering his head around into his sons dark bedroom.

“Stiles?” The Sheriff questions warily into the darkness.

And all he wanted was five more minutes sleep …

“Morning Dad” Stiles groans as he stretches out his tired arms above his head, before turning and smiling over in the general direction of his doorway, still a little too tired to fully open his eyes.

“Everything alright in here?” His father replies, whilst opening the bedroom door fully and illuminating Stiles bedroom with light from the hallway. Stiles groans, and buries himself deeper under the blankets. “It sounded like you nearly had a heart attack.”

“I’m fine Dad.” Stiles replies, just as a yawn comes out of his mouth. “My alarm clock nearly killed me, that’s all.”

The Sheriff huffs a laugh, and leans casually against the doorway. He was always more of a morning person than his son …

Stiles is surprised to notice that his father is dressed in something other than his police uniform this morning. The Sheriff was wearing a pair of blue denim jeans and a cotton t-shirt, and Stiles couldn’t let that just pass him by without commenting on it.

“Going somewhere?” Stiles asks, finally sitting up in bed, and rubbing his hand across his tired eyes.

“The opposite actually. I have the morning off.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, genuinely surprised at this. “I thought you were working on that new case? And teaching the new guy?”

“That’s why I have the morning off.” The Sheriff explains, before making his way further into the room. Don’t you dare, Stiles thinks, glaring at his father. “Me and Parrish have the night shift.”

Just as his father finishes his sentence, he pushes back Stiles’ curtains, exposing the young pale teenager to the bright morning sun.

Stiles groans, even louder than before, and quickly pulls the blanket over his head, trying to shield himself from the intrusive light. He was almost tempted to hiss like a cat, or a vampire, just to prove his point.

“C’mon kiddo. Up and at ‘em.” The Sheriff says cheerfully, carefully manoeuvring his way around the pile of clothes and books on the bedroom floor to get back to the doorway.

“You’re pure evil …” Stiles grumbles, his voice muffled by the sheets he was hiding underneath.

“No, if I was pure evil, I would wake you up the way my father used to wake me up.”

Stiles lowers the blanket slowly, and squints suspiciously at his father. “How did he wake you up?”

“Bucket of water.”

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up …”

Stiles scrambles out of his warm bed, hearing his father laugh as he walks down the corridor, heading to the kitchen.

He was still tired, and regretted staying up so late the night before studying. Well, coffee was invented for a reason after all, Stiles reasons with himself, as he heads into the bathroom. Hopefully with a few cups, he would become a functioning human being. 

* * *

Stiles gets to school on time, despite his less than peaceful wake up. The young man was buzzing from the coffee, which his father had limited to just two cups. Stiles thinks that was probably a wise decision, given the fact that he already had the urge to run rapidly in circles, for no reason whatsoever.

Suddenly, the young man’s good mood vanishes when he realises that his first lesson of the day is chemistry. On any other day, Stiles would look forward to sitting next to Danny, but since they were now working in groups for the semester, Stiles had a new assigned seat. He was now working and sitting with Isaac. Great.

Entering the classroom, Stiles immediately looks around for Daniel. Sure, the guy was odd, but he was nice enough, and didn’t hate Stiles or want to rip his head off. Only a few seconds after entering the room though, Stiles realises that Daniel is nowhere to be seen.

“Mr Stilinski, take a seat.” Mr Harris says, his back facing Stiles as he began to scribble something on the chalkboard at the front of the classroom.   

Stiles sighs, and moves to the back of the classroom and his new group table. Isaac was already sat down, looking as angry as ever, and staring longingly over towards Scott. Jeez, the poor Beta’s were whipped …

“Today, you will be deciding on your project titles, and giving out roles to each member of the group …” Stiles raises his hand, and seeing the young man, Harris rolls his eyes. “Yes Mr Stilinski?”

“We’re a man down.”

Harris seems unamused by the comment, and simply nods his acknowledgement. “Mr Johnson has been suspended. Your group has now been changed to a pairing.”

Students begin to mutter around the room at this new piece of information, but Stiles ignores most of the gossip as Harris just moves on and talks about the assignment.

Great, so now it was just going to be Stiles and Isaac working together; for the rest of the semester.

After Harris finishes speaking, the students begin talking about who will do what. Isaac and Stiles however, remain completely silent, and don’t even turn to look at each other.

Suddenly, Stiles leans forward, trying to get closer to the young blonde woman sat at the desk in front of him.  

“Nichola?”

Blue eyes turn to face Stiles, and he smiles as warmly as his exhaustion will let him. 

“Yeah?” The young girl questions. 

Just as Stiles moves to say something else to the young woman, Scott stands from the table in front of her, and moves to the front of the classroom. Perfect, Stiles thinks, no wolfy hearing to worry about.

“Hey, do you want to swap groups with Isaac?” Hearing this, Isaac suddenly sits up a little straighter, and appears to be much more interested in the conversation. “You can work with me, and I have a great idea for the assignment.”

Nichola looks tempted, and Stiles is beginning to think he may just have convinced her, when the young girl suddenly turns towards Scott.

The Alpha was stood at the front of the room, collecting paper and pens with the other member of his group, and smiling as he listened to his companion talk about something that was apparently very funny.

Nichola smiles in Scott’s direction, who seems oblivious to the fact that multiple members of the class were now staring at him.

“Sorry Stiles …” Nichola all but sighs, as she finally turns away from Scott, and faces Stiles who was sat behind her. “I’m happy in my group.”

Yeah, I bet you are, Stiles thinks. Who knew that so many people had a crush on Scott … That was new. Maybe it was the new haircut?

“Well, it looks like we’re stuck together.” Isaac mumbles quietly, still glaring towards the front of the room, and not looking towards Stiles.

“Yep.” Stiles replies, smacking his lips together on the ‘p’, “We’re screwed.”

Stiles turns and looks around the classroom, seeing what the other groups were doing. Jackson was sat with his group, not saying a word, but looking pretty pleased with himself. Clearly, he had been grouped with some smart kids, and wasn’t planning on doing anything to help them. Danny on the other hand, was actively talking to his group; drawing out a spider diagram and laughing at something one of his companions had said. Just as Stiles wonders what he has to do, or who he has to pray to, to get into that group, Isaac sighs, and finally looks over at Stiles.

“I’m not going to fail this class.” The Beta says with conviction, before gritting his teeth. “I can’t.”

Stiles smirks. Sure, he could probably say something a bit more mature, or even supportive, but hey, who was he kidding. That would be totally out of character.

“Werewolf Mama going to kick your ass if you fail?”

Isaac’s nostril flail and he glares at Stiles so viciously the young man is tempted to move his chair back. “Who are you even talking about?”

“Derek.” Stiles answers immediately, no longer smiling. “But I guess, Scott works too.”

“Derek wouldn’t care, but Coach would.”

Stiles suddenly understands what his companion was talking about, and nods. “Ah. Afraid that if you fail …”

“I’m not  _afraid_ of anything.” Isaac growls, interrupting his companion, and Stiles is too exasperated with the young Beta to even bother calling bullshit on that statement. “But you know how it goes with Coach. You fail classes, you’re off the team.”

Stiles stays quiet for a few seconds, wondering exactly what he should say in response to that, or even if he should respond. It was true, he knew how it worked with Coach. He wasn’t allowed to take students that were failing classes. Even failing one class made you less likely to get picked for the team …

“I don’t exactly want to fail either.” Stiles says after a while. “My dad would kill me …”

“Mr Stilinski?” A loud voice calls over the classroom, and it takes an awful amount of restraint from Stiles to not roll his eyes. “Are you and Mr Lahey planning on doing any work any time soon?”

“We’re just planning out our assignment.” Stiles answers with confidence, and Isaac nods quickly from beside him. “You know, working as a team and all that jazz …”

Harris doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t say anything else, merely looking back down at the papers on his desk, and continuing to grade them.

“So, got any ideas?” Stiles asks enthusiastically, picking up a pen and pulling his notebook towards himself.

“No.” Isaac answers, extremely unhelpfully.

“Great!” Stiles replies brightly, earning himself a cold look from the clearly unamused Isaac. “I’ll take note of that really helpful comment …”

“You’re an idiot.”          

“And there's another great comment!”

Isaac rolls his eyes, and doesn’t say anything else.

Stiles begins to take some actual notes then, as Isaac sits and stares around the classroom, sighing occasionally and playing with a pen.

“For someone who really wants to pass this class, you have a severe lack of ideas.” Isaac growls, and Stiles is so used to werewolf antics that he doesn’t even blink in response. Instead, he just rolls his eyes. “Or motivation …” Stiles places down his pen, and closes his book, before turning to his werewolf companion. “Look, I know you would rather be working with Scott right now -”

“Or anybody else.”

“But,” Stiles continues, ignoring the snide comment. “You  _are_ working with me, and like you said, we can’t fail this class.” Isaac lets out a frustrated breath, but Stiles doesn’t stop. “Fine, sit there in broody silence, doing absolutely nothing. We’ll fail, and you’ll be off the team.”

“I …” Isaac opens and closes his mouth, before resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. The Beta runs his hands through his hair, sending the blonde curls in several different directions.

“Then  _help me_ ,” Stiles actually pleads. Chemistry wasn’t exactly his best subject after all. “Maybe, just maybe, we can pass this.”

Suddenly, Isaac looks over towards Scott, then Jackson, then the other members of the pack. He looks torn for a moment, unsure of what to say or do, and so Stiles just waits. Either Isaac was going to play ball, or he wasn’t.

He was guessing the latter.  

“Alright,” Isaac says after a while, turning to face Stiles at the small table. “What do you want me to do?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Saturday 16th April**

Stiles looks down at the text message that was open on his phone, then up at the building looming in front of him, then back down towards his phone. Was Isaac pranking him or something? Why would he send him this address? There was no way that Isaac actually lived here …

It was a gorgeous day in Beacon Hills; so much so that the pale and not particularly anatomically blessed Stiles had decided to wear shorts for once. He severely hoped that Isaac would keep any thoughts about that to himself. They had planned to get some work done today after all, not get into yet another pointless argument.

Stiles pockets his phone, swings his backpack onto his back, and walks towards the building, dread rising in his stomach. He is tempted to climb back into his Jeep, and text Isaac with some sort of excuse. But he really did need to get work done for chemistry. He needed a good grade.

Please be home alone, Stiles thinks as he pushes open the main entrance doorway, and makes his way over towards the lift. Please don’t have any werewolf-y company …

Climbing into the lift Stiles takes a deep breath, and before he could change his mind, he reaches out and presses the button for the top floor. Well, there was no going back now. The lift shudders violently suddenly, and Stiles reaches a hand out against the concrete wall to stop himself from crashing to the floor in a pile of limbs. This place really was kinda of a dump, and not a place where Stiles could ever imagine anyone living, and enjoying it. As the lift jolts to a halt, Stiles moves forward to slide the metal grate across, and let himself out, but Isaac beats him to it.

The Beta stands back after opening the lift, ultimately in a silent invitation to come in. Isaac does look Stiles up and down when he steps forward, but mercifully doesn’t say anything about his attire. Stiles enters the loft, nodding towards Isaac in an awkward sort of ‘hey’ gesture, before dumping his bag on the sofa.

“So, you live here?” Stiles asks, turning to look at Isaac, who was making his way over to the nearby kitchen.

Stiles is surprised to see that the young Beta was dressed casually,  _really_ casually, in a loose cotton t-shirt that was way too big for him, and a pair of sweatpants which clearly had been used as pyjamas at some point in their long life. Stiles had never seen Isaac look so … normal. Like a very tired and grouchy teenager. It kinda took away a little bit of the magic; he would never look at the werewolf the same way again, that was for sure.

Stiles suddenly snaps back into the room, and realises that Isaac had rolled his eyes at him, and blandly said, “No.” sarcastically in response to his question.

Sarcasm, that was new, Stiles thought as he watches Isaac. Huh, maybe Derek was rubbing off on him as well.

“Yep, you definitely live with Derek.” Stiles says, nodding his head jerkily, and putting his arms on his waist. “That was very ‘Derek like’ …” Isaac turns and frowns, like he has absolutely no idea what Stiles was talking about. “The sarcasm, and brooding.” Stiles explains, trying not to smirk.

“He is my Alpha …” Isaac mumbles, who was now stood in the kitchen and reaching up towards a cupboard with his long arms.

“Since when do you live with Derek?”

“Since I’ve been in the pack.” Isaac answers, but he doesn’t exactly snap the response, and so Stiles thinks that they are making some sort of progress. “Do you not pay attention or something?”

Oh, there was the angry Beta that Stiles had come to know and … well, not even really  _know._

“Oh, I pay attention. It’s just people never really tell me anything.” Stiles mumbles, knowing fully well that Isaac could hear him clearly with his supernatural hearing. So, it turns out that it was useful for something after all.

The young man sighs, finally having found what he wanted from the kitchen. He pulls down a large packet of oreos and places them on the counter, before turning to the fridge, and opening the door. It was all so, domestic. Stiles couldn’t stop watching.

“You wanna drink or something?” Isaac asks, before running a hand through his curly blonde hair, and yawning.

Yeesh, it was 10am, not exactly an early to be up and about … Stiles had already been up for hours, whereas it looked like Isaac had only just gotten out of bed.

“Nope, I’m good.” Stiles answers, because he honestly was. He and his Dad had had a large breakfast, catching up with what had been happening with each other over the last week. The conversation was mostly about Parrish, who Stiles was feeling more and more curious about.  

Isaac nods, before reaching in the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water for himself. Grabbing the oreos from the counter, the young man then walks over to the sofa, and a coffee table that definitely wasn’t there the last time Stiles had been in the loft.

“Derek moved it from upstairs.” Isaac says suddenly, weirdly answering Stiles’ unspoken question. “So we would have something to work on …” Isaac continues, placing the cookies and his water on the table.

“Oh.” Stiles answers simply, unsure really of what else to say.

Did that mean that Isaac talked to Derek about him? Did Derek know that Stiles was here right now?

Stiles catches himself before he becomes distracted again, and tries to stop himself from daydreaming. Why was he thinking about Derek anyway?

Isaac moves over to the other side of the room as Stiles awkwardly sits himself on the sofa, and begins to pull out some of his chemistry books. After a few seconds, music slowly begins to fill the loft, and Stiles turns to see Isaac fiddling with an ipod dock. He hadn’t even noticed that earlier …

Apparently pleased with his song choice, Isaac walks back over to Stiles, and places himself opposite the young man, on the floor next to the coffee table.

“So, what are we going to do?”

Stiles sighs, and places some of his books onto the chemistry table so that Isaac could reach them as well. “This is supposed to be a team effort dude, emphasis on  _team_.” Stiles reasons, and Isaac rolls his eyes once again.

Derek really was rubbing off on him …

“That’s why I said ‘we’” Isaac retorts, reaching up to grab one of the chemistry books, and flicking it open at a random page.

“You also asked  _me_ , like I’m supposed to have all the answers.”

“You act like you do …” Isaac mumbles.

Stiles opens his mouth, but then quickly closes it. He was here to work, he tells himself firmly, before turning back to his bag and grabbing his notebook and pen. He wasn’t going to let Isaac annoy him. He would be the bigger person.

Suddenly, Isaac drops the large book on the coffee table, and grabs the packet of oreos. He rips it open with his teeth, ignoring the look from Stiles as he does so. The human wonders whether or not that was his way of saying ‘mine, because now they’re probably covered in my saliva’.

Gross.

“We could do something about werewolves?” Stiles says suddenly, tapping his pen against his notebook.

Isaac stops chewing. “What’s that got to with chemistry?”

“You know, reactions.” Stiles continues, only making Isaac look more confused. “Like, what happens when a werewolf touches wolfsbane …

Isaac growls, and resumes his chewing, before grabbing another cookie. Well, Stiles did have a big breakfast …“We already know what happens.” Isaac grumbles, and Stiles thinks he sees the man quickly look down towards his hand. No doubt, it was the same one that he had used to explore the wolfsbane garden.

Stiles smirks down at his notebook, still tapping his pen. “I know.”

Two hours later, Stiles and Isaac still haven’t even decided on a topic for their assignment. Harris was annoyingly vague about the entire thing, saying as long as it was part presentation and part paper, and everyone worked on it equally, you could pretty much do any chemistry topic you wanted.

That was  _no_  help.

Both men had decided to try and spend a few minutes just thinking, realising that doodling and flicking through chemistry books wasn’t going to help that get anything done.

Think, Stiles tells himself as he twirls a pencil around in his hand. What would be good to present to the class, but then could also make an awesome essay. And fun, it has to be something fun, otherwise Stiles was sure that he and Isaac would end up killing each other …

Suddenly, footsteps clang and echo on the metal spiral staircase, and Stiles turns just in time to see Derek descend the stairs.

Stiles gawks as the Alpha walks into the room, wearing similar clothes to Isaac, and looking like he had only just climbed out of bed himself. How long had he been up there?!

“Stiles.” Derek greets, nodding quickly towards the young man, before heading into the kitchen.

“Hey Derek.” Stiles responds, watching as Isaac beams at Derek.

Ew.

“How’s it going?” The Alpha asks, as he opens the fridge and begins to root around in it. Now that he was thinking about it, Stiles was getting a little bit hungry.

As Derek turns towards the two young men sat across from him, Isaac sighs dramatically, and actually  _pouts_ when Derek looks over towards them both with a raised eyebrow, clearly waiting for a response.

“Help …” Isaac whines, and Stiles nods erratically.

Yes, help, that’s what they needed right now …

“Sorry. My major was History. I don’t think I’m going to be any help with this.” Derek responds, before turning to place the carton of milk he had gotten out back into the fridge.

Isaac looks a little deflated, but nods, and turns back to his chemistry book. Stiles though, can’t let that little revelation pass him by.

“Wait, you have a degree?” The young man asks, squinting slightly at the Alpha, who apparently was making himself coffee.

Isaac doesn’t even look up from his book when he responds dryly, “You really don’t listen to anything do you?”

Stiles scowls at his companion, and begins to tap his pen erratically against his notebook. “I’ll say it again smartass, no one  _tells_ me anything.”

“What have you got so far?” Derek asks, moving from the kitchen to stand near the table. He looks down at the open books and pages of notes, his arms crossed over his chest. Isaac and Stiles share a quick look, but neither of them say anything in response. “Nothing?” Stiles winces, and Isaac shrugs. He really wasn’t used to being this stuck on schoolwork. “Seriously, you guys have been here for hours.” Derek sighs and shakes his head, looking more amused than frustrated, and it make Stiles confused. Why was Derek so concerned about Stiles and Isaac’s chemist work? Did he really think that they were going to fail?

“I need some air …” Isaac mumbles, before smoothly standing from the floor.

Derek huffs something that Stiles thinks may be an agreement, before heading back into the kitchen, to collect his now finished cup of coffee. Stiles waits until he is pouring his drink, before turning to Isaac.

“Hey, do you remember where that wolfsbane garden was?” Stiles asks in a low voice, desperately hoping that Derek’s hearing wasn’t that good.

“Yeah. I’m not going to forget that in a hurry.” Isaac replies, before shuddering.

What a drama queen.

“Can you show me?” Stiles asks, standing from the sofa and pushing all of his notes to one side. Hey, if he was going to procrastinate, he may as well do something interesting.

“Why?” Isaac squints slightly, and tilts his head.

Stiles just shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “Call it curiosity …”

“No.” Derek interrupts gruffly, not even raising his voice.

Damn stupid werewolf hearing …

“I might be able to find out something about it.”

“Something  _we_  couldn’t?” Isaac questions, his voice laced with humour.

“I may not have your noses, but Deaton …” He trails off, suddenly thinking that it might not be such a good idea to talk about Deaton and his so called ‘lineage’ in front of a very confused and nosey Isaac.

Just as Stiles is trying to figure out what to say next, Derek steps forward.

“Ok.” The Alpha says suddenly, and now it’s Stiles’ turn to look thoroughly confused.

“What?”

“You can go and look, but me and Isaac are going with you.”

Isaac is already nodding, looking ready to run out of the door immediately. Stiles though, is hesitant.

“Ok….” The young man says slowly, and Derek nods, now holding a hot cup of coffee.

“I’m going to get changed. Isaac, go and grab your phone, just in case we need to call Scott.”

Isaac rolls his eyes, but does quickly make his way over to the stairs, apparently to grab his phone. “I’m not going to touch anything again! I learnt my lesson …”

Stiles smirks, but Derek just sighs, thoroughly exasperated.

“Kid’s …”

“Shut up.” Derek retorts, but he’s smiling.

It was a little cooler in the woods than it had been in Beacon Hills itself, and Stiles was eternally grateful for it. He was still wearing his shorts and t-shirt, and hadn’t picked up his hoody from his Jeep, but he was comfortable, and that was the main thing. After all, it was hard enough for the young human to keep up with two werewolves in normal circumstances. Adding heat to that would have probably resulted in Stiles collapsing in a heap from exhaustion, and two werewolves laughing at his complete ‘humaness’. Also known as ‘uselessness’.

Stiles was walking side by side with Derek through the woods, with Isaac just a little way behind them both, occasionally scuffing his feet along the ground or kicking a twig away from his feet as he walked. It reminded Stiles of an unruly toddler who just didn’t want to go for a walk.

It had been mostly silent after they had left the loft, with Derek occasionally mumbling to Isaac about ‘this doesn’t mean he’s not going to do his chemistry work when he gets home’ and ‘tomorrow he was heading to the store, does he want anything?’. It was all very … domestic.

“We’re nearly there.” Derek says suddenly, and Stiles turns away from looking at Isaac, who had been glaring at a nearby squirrel.

Stiles had wanted to see if he would chase it.

Derek was looking straight ahead, but Stiles knew he was talking to him. He and Isaac could probably keep on walking to the next state without any problems. Stiles though was ten minutes from calling it a day, and just plonking himself down on the dirt and leaf covered floor in defeat. He was starting to get really hot.

He  _really_  wanted a break.

“Good.” The young man says instead, before straightening up and looking in front of himself, trying to find any sort of sign of this so called garden.  

Please let it be right in front of them …

Derek sighs, and places his hands into his pockets. He had changed into his typical attire, jeans and a t-shirt, but Stiles couldn’t remember the last time that he had seen Derek in just a thin cotton t-shirt. Who knew he didn’t always have to wear something leather …

“We should driven here.” The Alpha murmurs, and Stiles is torn between being flattered that someone was thinking about his welfare, and being a little bit insulted that Derek thought he couldn’t manage a 5 mile walk.

He couldn’t, but still, it was the principal.

“I’m good dude.” Stiles replies, and it’s only a half lie. He was enjoying the walk, and getting out of doing more chemistry work. His brain had been ready to explode back in the loft. “I may be human but – “

“No we should have.” Isaac interrupts, and Stiles whirls around to look at him, or more like glare at him. Isaac just shrugs in response, before nodding up towards the sky. “It’s gonna rain soon.”

Stiles frowns for a moment, unsure whether Isaac was joking. Sure, it wasn’t as hot as it had been before, but the sky was pretty much clear.

“There’s a storm heading in.” Derek adds, no doubt in response to Stiles’ sceptical expression.

Stiles sighs loudly, so loudly that a few nearby birds fly away, shocked by the sudden noise in the peaceful woods. Derek sighs again. He seemed to do that a lot in Stiles’ company.

“We’re here …” Isaac says suddenly, moving forward quickly, and stepping around Derek and Stiles.

Stiles stands for a moment, confused, before realising that Isaac was heading over a small incline, and down the other side. Someone had really wanted to keep this garden hidden from prying eyes.

Derek nods at Stiles, telling him that they should probably follow Isaac. Stiles smirks.

“Scared he’s going to get himself in trouble again?” Stiles mumbles, and now it’s Derek’s turn to smirk.

“I can hear you” Isaac grumbles, and Stiles rolls his eyes before heading over the incline.

“Holy shit …”

The garden was much bigger than he had expected it to be. The plants were only just blooming, and bright purple and yellow follows were swaying slightly in there orderly lines. Stiles realises with some surprise that because of where the garden was, there was also a light breeze blowing through the plants. Someone had planned this out really well.

Derek growls,  _loudly,_ when Isaac makes his way forward, going closer to the plants. “Stay back. Don’t breathe too much in.”

Isaac just nods, and stands still a few feet away from the plants. Huh, so he did listen to Derek then.

“Stiles?” Derek questions, before nodding towards the plants in front of him. “Can you take a look?”

“Sure.” Stiles answers immediately, because hello, of course he was going to look.

Stepping closer, the young man immediately begins to count the plants. There were less than he had originally thought, as most were big plants with a lot of flowers, rather than there being a lot of plants.

“Aconitum.” Stiles murmurs, kneeling down next to one of the large plants that was littered with purple flowers. “It’s the wolfsbane that only grows in the northern hemisphere.” He adds, before turning to look at Derek and Isaac. Both of the werewolves were frowning, and Stiles sighs. “Also known as monkswood or ‘Queen of All Poisons’?” Still, neither of Stiles’ companions say anything. “You know, it’s where the word aconite comes from?”

“How do you know so much about all this stuff?” Isaac questions, as Stiles shuffles forward, checking out some more of the large plants.

They had been well looked after.  _Really_ well looked after. That was weird, considering that Stiles knew they were miles away from the nearest road, and there were no tracks from a car, or any sort of vehicle. How could someone be walking in the woods nearly every day without someone knowing? The preserve did close after all, and the rangers usually were pretty good at keeping an eye on things. So, how the hell did they miss this?

“After Lydia’s party I researched wolfsbane.” Stiles answers, reaching out and checking underneath the plant, careful to avoid touching the flowers themselves. “I just wanted to check that there wouldn’t be any weird side effects or anything after we all drank it.”

“Are there?” Isaac asks, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah, usually death.”

Isaac huffs, apparently unamused, and Stiles gets back to investigating.

He wasn’t even joking. Usually, when people, even humans ingested wolfsbane they were dead with days. It was toxic, not as much for humans than werewolves, but still they should have been more ill than they had been after the party. Stiles had wondered that maybe it was because of the fact they had drunk the plant, not eaten it. Either that, or it was a different kind of wolfsbane, one that Stiles hadn’t been able to read into online.

“Someone’s been here, and recently.” Derek says suddenly, and the words almost sound like a growl.

Uh oh, that wasn’t a good sign.

“You mean me and Erica?” Isaac questions, and Stiles watches as the young man raises his head. Scenting?

“No, after that.” Derek answers, beginning to walk around the garden, careful not to get so close.

“Someone is looking after these plants, and really well.” Stiles says, groaning slightly as he stands up. “They’ve been trimming them, and there’s stuff to keep bugs away on the ground.”

“Figures.” Derek replies. “Wolfsbane is hard to look after.”

“How to you know that?” Stiles asks, and it sounds a little bit more harsh than he had intended it too.

Derek sighs, finally coming to a stop next to Isaac, after circling the entire garden. “I’ve seen Emissary’s, people like Deaton, grow wolfsbane for emergencies.”

“What kind of emergencies?” Isaac asks cautiously.

“Rogues.” Derek answers, and he doesn’t elaborate, even though Stiles senses he wants to say more. No one presses the Alpha though, and Stiles gets back down to business.

Reaching into his back pocket, Stiles pulls out a small plastic bag, and bends back over the largest plant.

“You carry around that stuff everywhere?” Isaac questions, and Stiles knows he is talking about the bag.

“Hey, always be prepared.” Stiles mumbles, before pulling up his sleeve and covering his hand. He really didn’t want to touch these flowers …  Something felt off about them.

“Were you a boy scout?” Derek grumbles.

“No.” Stiles scoffs. Reaching forward, Stiles pulls out a large stem of the plant, and stuffs it into the bag. It wasn’t a good fit, but Stiles figures that Deaton wouldn’t need the plant to be in perfect condition to know what it was. “Scott didn’t want to join when we were kids …”

Suddenly, a hand grabs hold of Stiles’ arm, and the young human looks up to see a frowning Derek staring down at him.

“Careful.” The man growls, and Stiles sighs.

“I’m not a werewolf.”

“No, but this stuff is still pretty toxic, even to humans.”

“Yeah, if I eat it.” Stiles says again, his arm still in Derek’s grasp.

Derek nods towards Stiles' hand holding the bag, and looks less than amused.

“Or if you put your hands into your mouth after touching it.”

Stiles frowns for a moment, before realising what he had done. Automatically, the young man had reached up, and almost touched his mouth. Oops. “I had something in my mouth …” Stiles tries, and Derek growls, before releasing his arm.

Rolling his eyes the Alpha steps back, and Stiles puts the wolfsbane in his back pocket. That was close …

“What about this? For your chemistry work.” Derek says, as he reaches Isaac,

“What, werewolf – “

“Nothing to do with werewolves.” Derek interrupts, shaking his head, and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Wolfsbane, poisonous plants.”

Isaac nods, but Stiles knows he doesn’t really seem to be following what his Alpha was talking about. “You mean …” Derek raises an eyebrow, and Isaac deflates. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, no it’s good.” Stiles says, walking towards the two men, but being careful not to get too close. After all, he was now carrying wolfsbane in his back pocket. “The compounds of certain plants, what makes them poisonous, or toxic to certain species. It can be like a botany subject. The biochemisty of - ”

“Okay, I feel like this is going to be a long conversation, and it’s raining.” Isaac interrupts, already turning around and heading back up the small incline.

“It’s not – “ Just on time, a crack of thunder sounds overhead, and small drops of rain start to hit the ground. “Damn it.”

“C’mon, let’s head back.” Derek says, sounding amused as he nods his head towards Isaac.

Stiles begins to walk, before he suddenly stops. “Wait, where are we right now?”

“Nowhere near your house. We’ll have to walk back the way we came.”

Stiles pouts, and Isaac actually laughs. Stupid werewolves …

“Don’t laugh, I have wolfsbane.”

“Yeah, that we need to study, not shove in each other’s mouths.”

“Who said anything about shoving it in your mouth …”


	17. Chapter 17

**Sunday 17th April**

Stiles opens his eyes slowly, before blinking quickly to clear away the last remnants of sleep from his clouded vision. He was exhausted, and desperately wanted to go back to sleep. But the young man felt too cold, and couldn’t get comfortable in his awkward position.

Opening his eyes fully, Stiles takes in the room, and tries to find the source of the sudden cold draft that was seeping into his bones. The room was dark, almost pitch black, but the young man could still make out a single blurry figure, stood at the very far end of the room. Stiles realises suddenly that he was led down on the cold stone floor, with the figure stood looming over him. The young man looks around quickly, trying to find out what was going on, or how he had got here.

He couldn’t remember getting here …

Suddenly, the figure moves, walking a few steps forward, closer to where Stiles was led down. The way the figure moved was eerie, with small slow steps that hardly made a sound on the stone floor. Stiles watches closely, trying to see if he recognised who it was that was stood over him. As the figure gets closer, he begins to bend down slightly, before he stands and looks down so he was face to face with Stiles. It was a man, Stiles could see that, but with the darkness clouding his vision he couldn’t make out the man’s face.

Suddenly and without warning, the young man moves to straddle Stiles’ waist, his face just inches from Stiles’. His legs rest against Stiles’ on the floor, and he bends to place his two hands on either side of Stiles’ face. The ground suddenly feels cold and wet, but Stiles still tries to move closer to it, to get away from the looming figure who he suddenly recognises.

Stiles wants to move, to get away from him, but he finds himself completely frozen. No, not frozen, Stiles realises as he attempts to move his arms and legs. He was paralyzed.

“Nice to see you again Stiles …” Matt drawls, and Stiles tries to move backwards once again, or at least move his face away from the young man. But still, his body wouldn’t respond to him, and he stayed frozen on the cold stone floor.  

“No …”

Matt’s face stretches into a sickening smile seeing the struggle in Stiles’ face, and his horror at seeing Matt once again.

He bends down even more, and Stiles can see his vacant eyes glaring into his own. “You can’t move Stiles. You can’t move.”

“You’re dead.” Stiles rasps, able to move his mouth to form the words, but unable to move his face away as Matt begins to move even closer.

Matt suddenly stops smiling, and looks sad. Stiles watches as the man begins to silently cry; tears streaming down his too pale and too gaunt face. Suddenly, the tears join other droplets of water, and before Stiles can even blink, Matt appears to be covered in cold droplets of water.

Matt shakes his head violently back and forth, sending water crashing down onto the ground, and onto Stiles below him. Still, Stiles finds himself unable to move, no matter how much he wanted to, or tried to.

“I died.” Matt says quietly, before leaning down, so close that his lips were brushing against Stiles’ own. He tries to move backwards, but again, his body does not cooperate with his wishes. Matt smiles once again, his lips still brushing against the figure below him, and Stiles feels sick. “It’s your turn next.”

Matts eyes begin to glow, a deep yellow that quickly turns into a bright gold, and then a blood red. He hisses, and slowly raises an arm, the water from it falling onto Stiles’ chest and face.

Stiles closes his eyes, and waits for the final blow … But it doesn’t come.

* * *

Stiles’ eyes shoot open, and he gasps for breath loudly, the sound echoing in his silent and still bedroom.

Matt? Why had he suddenly been dreaming, or even thinking about Matt?

Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had been thinking about the young man, or what had happened to him.

Stiles had always known there had been something ‘off’ about the kid he had went to school and played lacrosse with. He had to admit, he hadn’t known just how badly he was right, merely thinking that Matt was keeping something from people, and wasn’t exactly who he said he was. Stiles never would have been able to guess that the man was a cold hearted killer, until he had almost shot and killed Stiles, his father, Melissa and Scott.  

Blinking rapidly, Stiles tries to turn his head to look at the alarm clock on his bedside table, in order to figure out what time he had waken himself up. He hoped it was early, so he could get some more sleep. But as Stiles tries to turn, his head doesn’t move, and stays completely motionless on the warm pillow. Confused, the young man tries to reach a hand up to his face, but Stiles’ arm remains still and unmoving beneath the covers.

Stiles’ heart begins to beat rapidly in his chest, and he slams his eyes shut quickly before he can become more panicked.

Breathe … the young man tells himself, just breathe.

But it was no use, the panic had set in, and there was nothing that he could do to stop it.

Suddenly, the door to Stiles’ bedroom flies open, and Stiles whimpers, unable to turn him head to see who it is who had barged into the room.

“Stiles?” The Sheriff questions warily, before stepping into the room slowly.

Stiles tries to form a response to his father, but his reply comes out as a sob, and his chest heaves as he tries to breathe normally.

It was a panic attack. 

“Stiles!” The Sheriff exclaims, dashing forward to stand at the side of the bed. He reaches down carefully, placing a warm and reassuring hand on his son’s chest. “Breathe son, breathe … that’s it.” Stiles’ eyes widen, and the Sheriff frowns down at his son as he sees the genuine terror in his expression. “What’s wrong?” His father questions, moving his hand to his son’s shoulders, and holding them firmly.

“I can’t … I can’t move …”

The Sheriff suddenly grows pale, and moves to sit next to Stiles on the bed. He carefully takes one of Stiles’ shaking hands in his own. “It’s okay son, I’m right here.”

“I can’t …”

“Breathe Stiles, keep breathing.” Stiles does, but his chest still heaves, and sobs still escape from the young’s man’s lips. “Just try and move your fingers.” Stiles frowns down at his hand, willing his fingers to move, even just a little bit. They stay resolutely still for a few seconds, before they begin to wiggle erratically. The Sheriff nods, and lets out a breath that Stiles hadn’t even known he had been holding. “That’s it, c’mon, now your feet.”

Once again Stiles concentrates, feeling his panic slowly melt away as his fingers begin to move under his command, as do his feet. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, Stiles can slowly sit up. He lets out a breath, and rubs a hand over his pale face.

The Sheriff frowns, before quickly standing from the bed. “I’m calling the hospital.”

Stiles reaches out a shaking hand, grabbing his father’s arm before he could leave the room. “No, I’m fine Dad. Honestly.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles’ father asks, frowning down at his son, as if he were willing him to tell the truth.

Stiles nods, and moves back to sit up even straighter in his bed. He lets out another breath, waiting for a few seconds until his heart rate calms down before speaking to his father, who was hovering worriedly over the young man.

“Sleep paralysis … that’s new.” Stiles huffs, before rubbing his face once again. “And it sucks.”

“That’s never happened before.” The Sheriff says quietly, and Stiles’ chest clenches when he hears the genuine worry in his father’s quiet voice.

“It happens to everyone sometimes.” Stiles reasons, even though he was mostly saying it for his father’s own sanity, rather than actually meaning it.

“And you had a panic attack.” The Sheriff replies, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at his pale son. “You hadn’t had one of those since …”

“Since Matt.” Stiles interrupts.

Both men don’t say anything else, merely standing and sitting in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Stiles wonders whether his father had a suspicion that Stiles knew more about Matt than he had said before. Both had nearly been killed by him, but now that the Kanima was gone, as was Gerard Argent, Stiles thought it wasn’t exactly necessary to tell his father about all things supernatural. He hoped he never had to.

“Maybe we should go out for a bit, get some fresh air.” The Sheriff says suddenly, before making his way over to Stiles’ window and opening the curtains.

He eyes the plant, or more like stick, that was still sitting on the window sill, but doesn’t say anything.

“I had plenty of fresh air yesterday.” Stiles grumbles, as he stands from his bed and stretches his arms and legs.

His hands were still shaking slightly, and to hide them from his father, he quickly makes his way over to his wardrobe, and begins pulling out some comfortable clothes. Stiles quickly glances out his bedroom window, and seeing the bright clear sky, grabs a t-shirt instead of his usual plaid shirt.

“How did your work go with Isaac?” The Sheriff asks, sitting down on Stiles’ unmade bed.

Stiles hears that his father’s voice was still slightly shaky, and he knows that the Sheriff was trying to make casual conversation. Talking had always helped him deal with his panic attacks, even when he was younger.

“It was okay. Derek helped.”

“Did he now …”

Stiles turns quickly, seeing his father looking down at the floor with a strange expression that Stiles couldn’t decipher. He closes his wardrobe, and slowly approaches the bed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” The Sheriff smiles up at his son, before frowning once again. “You alright now kiddo?”

“Yeah. And don’t call me that.” Stiles grumbles, as he pulls off the shirt he had slept in, grimacing when the sweat from it sticks to his cold skin.

The Sheriff watches his son closely, still frowning, and looking just as concerned as he had been when he had stormed into his son’s bedroom. “I can still call Melissa.”

“I’m fine” Stiles argues, before reaching up to flatten down his hair that had been rustled up when he had removed his shirt. Stiles looks outside once again. “I think you’re right though, I need some air.”

The Sheriff sighs, but doesn’t disagree. Instead he nods, and stands up from the bed.

“Don’t go too far, and take your phone.”

“Yes sir.” Stiles mutters, smirking, and feeling much more like his usual self.

“And Stiles …”

Stiles turns towards his father, who was now stood in the doorway of his room. “Yeah?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Stiles frowns at that, and cocks his head slightly in confusion. “Like what?”

Stiles’ father opens his mouth, apparently about to say something in response, before he quickly shakes his head, and smiles. “Never mind. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you later Dad.”

* * *

It was a gorgeous day in Beacon Hills, but not even the beautifully warm weather could help improve Stiles’ mood. He didn’t really know if it was because of the sudden nightmare, or the fact that his friendship with his best friend was still not back to normal, but he felt completely and utterly miserable. He was still shaking slightly as he got himself a drink from the kitchen, but just clenches his hand, and puts it into his pocket when his father enters the room.

The Sheriff mentions that he won’t be home until late, and Stiles just nods, making plans in his head of how he could pass the time. He was supposed to call, or at least text Isaac, and make plans to do some more work, but he really wasn’t in the mood for that. Well, he was never really in the mood for Chemistry, but still.

Stiles had read once that exercise helps release endorphins, and endorphins were just what the young man needed at this point in time.

Stiles only walks for about five minutes into the woods, wanting to heed his father’s advice at not venturing too far from the house. The young man didn’t feel like running today, or even lifting giant rocks. The last time Stiles had done that, he had almost broken his fault. True, it was partly because of the sudden interruption from a werewolf, but better too be safe than sorry.

He finds a good spot, and a tree with a perfect overhanging branch. Dumping his bag and bottle of cold water, Stiles approaches the tree; a determined look on his still pale face. 

Stiles jumps, and grabs hold of the tree branch. Making sure he has a good grip, he alters his stance, and begins to pull himself up. He manages three pull ups, before he starts to get ridiculously hot and sweaty. Letting go of the branch, Stiles lands mercifully on his two feet rather than falling on his ass, and wastes no time in pulling off his already soiled t-shirt, and throwing it down on top of his backpack. It really was hot in Beacon Hills today.

Stiles alters the song playing on his iPod, and turns the music down a little, just so he could hear if someone was around. He didn’t want anyone to sneak up on him, especially now he was shirtless. He didn’t think his neighbours would have any problem telling his father about that, and did not want to have that awkward conversation when he got home.

Suddenly, the crunching sound of dry leaves and small twigs reaches Stiles’ ears, and he quickly reaches up to remove one of his ear buds, before continuing to pull himself up.

“You must be following me.” Stiles mutters, knowing fully well that Derek could hear him with his werewolf hearing.

Derek leans up against a small tree, watching Stiles with a frown. “I’m not following you.”

“Every time I come in the woods, you’re here.” Stiles argues, and it was technically true. The young man wonders idely whether Derek was spying on him …

“This is my territory.” Derek reasons with a shrug, and Stiles scoffs at the use of the repeated excuse.

“So, that’s what this is about?” Stiles questions, panting slightly as he pulled himself up once again. He was beginning to get kinda tired. “You’re being territorial?”

Derek sighs as he pushes himself away from the tree he was leaning against, and moves to stand directly in front of Stiles.

“I could smell you coming into the woods from the other side of the reserve Stiles. I knew it was you.”

“Yep, just plain old me.”

Derek opens his mouth, apparently about to reply to Stiles’ comment, when he suddenly frowns, before narrowing his eyes at the young man in front of him. Stiles tries to ignore the gaze, and instead focuses on counting in his head as he pulled himself up. One … two … three …

“You okay?” Derek questions, and Stiles scoffs.

“Not really.” Derek moves to reply, but Stiles cuts him off quickly, not giving the Alpha a chance to speak. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Yeah, but you did that face.”

“What face?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, and lets go of the tree branch. Once again, he manages not to fall on his ass, and he appreciates that even more so than before, given the present company.

“The face.” Stiles replies, waving his hands around to signal to the Alpha’s broody expression. “You know, that face.”

Derek sighs. “Stiles, just tell me.”

Stiles walks over to his bag, and bends down and grabs his bottle of water. Taking a long drink, the young man suddenly realises that he is shirtless in front of Derek Hale. That was weird.

Strangely, he didn’t feel nervous, or even embarrassed. He was too hot and sweaty to care. “I knew you wanted to know.” Stiles sighs, before capping his now empty bottle, and dropping it back down onto his bag. “I had a nightmare last night, about Matt.”

“The kid who controlled the kanima?” Derek questions, and Stiles avoids his gaze as he walks back over to the tree.

“Yeah.”

“It’s normal to have nightmares about traumatic experiences.”

“I guess.” Stiles reasons.

Yeah, nearly being shot, watching people he had known for years getting killed, seeing his dad, Melissa and Scott nearly being killed … that was definitely a traumatic experience.

“You talked to anyone about that?”

Stiles looks up at the branch, about to mutter a simple ‘no’ but then deciding against it. Nothing bad had come from telling Derek things in the past. At least, not like it had from talking to Scott. “Morrell. She’s the guidance counsellor at school and –“

Stiles cuts himself off, and shakes his head, before huffing out a laugh completely devoid of any amusement.

“What?” Derek questions, still stood with his arms crossed over his chest, and looking like he was going to remain there until he got an answer.

“Why am I telling you this?” Stiles asks quietly, still avoiding Derek’s gaze as he jumps up and grabs the tree branch once again.

Derek shrugs, and unfolds his arms. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I don’t.” Stiles bites back, before wincing slightly. Jeez, and he had been complaining about Isaac being an ass to people.

Derek doesn’t reply, and Stiles is nervous for a few seconds, before realising that the Alpha had been taking off his leather jacket, and dumping it next to Stiles’ belongings.

“Do you want me to leave?” The Alpha asks, even though he looked like he was ready to do anything but.

Stiles lets go of the branch, his anger and annoyance suddenly rising to the surface as he turns to glare at Derek.

“Why are you here?” Stiles snaps, crossing his arms over his sweaty chest, and breathing raggedly. He was getting out of shape.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Derek responds calmly, appearing to be not at all affected by Stiles’ stance, or his tone of voice.

“You’re always here when I’m here!” Stiles exclaims flailing his arms as Derek just stands in front of him, completely still and calm.

“I told you. I –“

“Yeah, yeah. You can smell me.” Stiles interrupts.

Before he could say anything else, likely to get him into trouble with a werewolf, Stiles huffs, and jumps to grab hold of the branch once again.

“I can also smell anxiety, and you reek of it.” Derek says quietly, so quietly, that Stiles almost misses the comment with his human hearing.

“So, you wanted to make sure I was okay?” Stiles questions, pausing for a moment on the branch, just dangling.

“Yes.”

Stiles really has nothing to say in response to that.

“Issac said you were supposed to call him today. About the chemistry work.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, and lets go of the branch. He nods, unable to speak easily due to his rapid breathing. He slumps down on the floor, not caring about the dirt and leaves, before pulling out his remaining earbud, and switching off his ipod.

“I know. But you know, the whole nightmare thing didn’t really put me in a good mood to work on chemistry.”

“I’ll tell him.” Derek replies, surprising Stiles. “You can work on it another time.”

“Thanks.”

Derek nods, before he suddenly runs forward, and with a panthers easy grace, grabs hold of the branch Stiles had been using to pull himself up. Stiles huffs a laugh, before moving slightly to the side to ensure that he didn’t get kicked in the face as Derek pulled himself up.

“How’s Scott?” Stiles questions, partly just to say something to fill the silence, and partly because he wanted to be nosey.

“Fine.” Derek replies, not even slightly out of breath. “You talked to him?”

“No.”

“You know, I haven’t exactly had the best relationship with Scott.”

“No kidding.” Stiles replies dryly, managing not to roll his eyes.  

“Scott made a deal with the hunters once. He wanted me gone; out of his life for good.”

Stiles’ eyes widen at that, and he quickly whirls his head around to look up at Derek, who was s _till_ doing pull ups. “Scott wanted them to kill you?”

“Gerard threatened him, and Melissa. He said he would kill her if he didn’t do what he told him to.”

“He wanted you.” Stiles realises, and Derek nods.

“He wanted Scott to tell them how to find me; to lure me into a trap.”

“Scott never told me that.” Stiles mumbles.

“Even before the pack joined together, Scott was trying to protect you.”

Stiles does roll his eyes at that. “Yeah, but it didn’t work did it. I was still involved, and so was my Dad. We were nearly killed by Matt, and then Gerard.”

“My point was …” Derek murmurs, before letting go of the branch. “People change. Relationships aren’t always perfect.”

“You’re saying that someone trying to kill you is small flaw in a relationship.”

“We’re werewolves.” Derek answers with a shrug, as if that was perfectly good explanation.

Stiles opens his mouth, and then closes it. He really didn’t know what he was supposed to say in response to that. Derek sits suddenly, falling down into the dirt next to Stiles.

“Heard anything about Lacrosse?” The Alpha asks, sounding genuinely interested. Or at least, he sounded curious.

“No, but I think that ship has probably sailed.” Stiles murmurs, before picking up a twig from the ground near his feet, and beginning to snap it into smaller pieces.

Before he starts thinking about lacrosse, and the fact that he was more than probably off the team, Stiles stands once again, and grabs hold of the branch.

“Hands.” Derek says simply, and Stiles doesn’t even pause to look down at the Alpha.

“Closer together?” Stiles asks, already shifting his hands on the branch, and carefully. He didn’t want to get any splinters; they hurt like hell.

“Yeah.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Monday 18th April**

Stiles doesn’t have a nightmare the next day. He is eternally grateful for it; with the memory of Matt leaning over him and brushing his cold lips against his own still violently turning his stomach every time he thinks about it.

He is glad that Derek didn’t ask too much about the nightmare, or even about Matt, when he had been in the woods with Stiles the day before. Stiles didn’t want to even think about it, let alone talk about it in any sort of detail. Derek didn’t seem to be the talkative kind of person anyway, but Stiles never thought he would be happy about that. Stiles was usually pretty annoyed about Derek’s long brooding silences and lack of being able to hold any sort of conversation, but yesterday it had been a relief. Derek had just watched Stiles, asking him a few random questions every now and again about school, lacrosse and his Dad, and then the Alpha had left a few hours later, just before Stiles had made his own way home through the woods.  

School dragged for Stiles on the Monday. He didn’t have chemistry that day, and was thankful for the break from the subject, and from the assignment that he just couldn’t stop thinking, or panicking about. Unlike all of his other subjects, Stiles had never really been fond, or even that good at chemistry. He thought it may be partly to do with the teacher, but honestly, Stiles just wasn’t that interested.

After school, Stiles all but jogs over to his jeep, eager to get out of the car park and head home for a Marvel movie marathon, or to do something just as relaxing and unproductive. He hadn’t bumped into any of the pack all day, and so was in a pretty good mood.

His good mood almost completely disappears however, when he finds the bag of wolfsbane in his car.

He had put it there for safe keeping after getting back from the woods with Derek and Isaac, but after that the young man had completely forget about it. It was lucky that the werewolves hadn’t gotten in the car at any point; not that they would have anyway. Stiles dreads to think what would have happened if they had. He had promised Derek the day before that he would take the bag to Deaton for him to look at. Hopefully the man would know what kind of wolfsbane it was, or at least where it had come from. For now, it was a complete mystery, and Stiles hates mysteries.

Sighing at the knowledge that his quiet and relaxing evening was all but ruined, Stiles drives quickly out of the school, and heads straight to the animal clinic.

About halfway there, Stiles is tempted to turn around and head home. He had promised Derek that he would go and see Deaton about the wolfsbane, but he suddenly remembers that Scott may be working at the animal clinic, and he desperately doesn’t want to bump into him. It would be stupidly awkward anyway, even if he didn’t waltz in with a bag of wolfsbane. Stiles doesn’t head home though. Partly because of his promise to Derek, but mostly because he was curious. He wanted to know about the garden, and Deaton always seemed to have answers about all things supernatural. That was a mystery as well, but a mystery for another time. Right now, Stiles had more important things to worry about.

The bell chimes sweetly when Stiles opens the door to the animal clinic. A young man was sat in the waiting room, holding a small puppy on his lap, and shushing it when it grumbled and growled at Stiles as he walked into the room. Stiles nods jerkily in greeting, before taking a seat far away from the man and his dog, being sure that the bag of wolfsbane was well hidden in his pocket. It looked weird enough that he was in the animal clinic without an animal; Stiles didn’t want to raise any suspicions after walking in with a bag of strange plants.

Deaton suddenly emerges from the back room, speaking an apology to the man with the puppy about waiting, and waving a hand to invite him into the back room. The vet then quickly looks over to Stiles, and holds a hand up to single that he should wait. Stiles nods, and leans further into his chair, trying to get into a more comfortable position. It was hard, considering that he was sat in a small plastic chair, but one of Stiles’ superhero abilities was being able to get comfy pretty much anywhere. Looking at the clock, Stiles hopes that Deaton wouldn’t be too long. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Deaton was an actual vet, and had a job to do.

Ten minutes later the young man emerges with a very annoyed looking dog, that was still growling even though it was the size of a small shoe, and Stiles can’t help but smirk when it growls at him once again. Serves it right for being such a little jackass …

“Stiles.” Deaton greets, and Stiles quickly turns from staring at the dog as it left the animal clinic.

Stiles stands, and follows Deaton into the back room. Before the vet could ask him any questions, Stiles reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the wolfsbane.

“So, I take it this is some of the wolfsbane that Erica and Isaac encountered.” Deaton says, eyeing the plant curiously, before turning to grab a pair of plastic gloves from a cupboard.

“You know about that?” Stiles questions. See, the man knew everything.

Deaton turns, and raises an eyebrow. “Who do you think they came to after they touched it?”

Stiles smirks, and reaches forward to open the bag, only to stopped by Deaton, who grabs his outstretched hand in his own.

“I think it would be best if I did that …” The man murmurs, releasing Stiles’ hand as he nods, and takes a step back from the table.

Stiles waits quietly as Deaton opens the bag, and carefully inspects the plant. Stiles gets a waft of the scent, and his face contorts horribly as he tries not to sneeze. Deaton ignores him, being too busy inspecting the purple wolfsbane.

“Interesting …” Deaton mumbles as he holds up a plant to the light, keeping it a fair distance away from his face. Clearly, he knew what he was doing. “And there was more?”

“Yeah. There’s loads of it, and they all look a little bit different.”

Deaton nods, before raising an eyebrow as he places the plant back onto the table. “You’re looking a little pale Stiles. Is everything alright?”

Stiles frowns at the non sequitur. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

Deaton nods, although he doesn’t look totally convinced about Stiles being fine. Mercifully, the man doesn’t say anything else, and begins instead to peel off his gloves, that were now slightly stained with yellow pollen. “I don’t recognise this branch of wolfsbane.”

“Really?” Stiles questions, genuinely bemused at that.

Deaton nods, before throwing the gloves into the trash bin in the corner of the room. “It appears to be some sort of hybrid.”

“You mean, someone created it?”

“Exactly.” Deaton replies, and Stiles notes that he almost sounds pleased by his comment. Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t _that_ stupid. “I’ll keep this sample here and run some tests. Meanwhile, I think everyone should stay away from the garden. At least until we can determine the identity of each plant.”

“Okay.”

Suddenly, the bell above the door chimes again, and Stiles knows when it is his time to leave. He mutters a thank you, and quickly leaves the animal clinic, ignoring the strange look from an older woman who had just entered the building, holding the oldest and grumpiest looking cat Stiles had ever seen in his life, that hisses as he walks past.

It weirdly reminds him of Derek.

* * *

Stiles dumps his bag in his bedroom when he gets home, before moving over to his wardrobe to grab some comfortable clothes. He felt like sitting and doing nothing for the next few hours, and that called for sweatpants and a t-shirt that was probably older than he was.

As Stiles leaves his room to head into the bathroom and get changed, he is blocked by his father, who just raises an eyebrow when he sees the less than clean clothes that Stiles has in his hands.

What? Stiles didn’t feel like doing laundry over the weekend …

“Don’t bother getting changed, we’re going out.” The Sheriff says suddenly, before crossing his arms over his chest.

For once, he wasn’t wearing his Sheriff’s uniform, and so Stiles thinks that he must have the night shift once again. Either that, or he had the day off, but that seemed _really_ unlikely.

“Out? Out where?” Stiles questions, as he turns to throw his clothes onto his bed.

“The hospital.”

Stiles closes his eyes, and sighs loudly. “Dad …”

“No arguments Stiles. I’ve booked you an appointment, and you’re going.” The Sheriffs voice leaves no room for argument, and so Stiles sighs once again, before trudging out of his room, collecting his mobile phone from his desk as he does. It’s more out of habit than anything; Stiles wasn’t expecting anyone to call.

“Fine.”

The Sheriff nods, apparently pleased that Stiles wasn’t in the mood for arguing, before heading downstairs, and straight to the front door.

Stiles climbs into his Jeep as his father gets into the passenger seat, before the two men head for the hospital. Stiles felt like the place was almost a second home to him, after the amount of time he had spent visiting there over the past year. Still, he hoped Melissa wouldn’t be working, or see him and his father. The last thing Stiles wanted was Scott knowing that he had been visiting the hospital. No doubt questions would be asked if he found out about that …

The Sheriff leads the way through the hospital, apparently knowing exactly where he was going. Stiles isn’t surprised. No doubt his father had spent just as much time at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital as him.

The young lady at the reception desk smiles brightly when she sees the Sheriff and Stiles, before simply waving them onward up the corridor. No waiting time? That was new.

The Sheriff knocks once when he reaches Dr Fenris’ office, before opening the door, and all but pushing Stiles into the room. Jeesh, it wasn’t as if he was going to run away.

“Sheriff.” Conrad Fenris greets as the two men enter the room, before standing to shake the man’s hand. He then turns to Stiles, and nods. “Mr Stilinski.”

“Stiles.” The young man corrects, before sitting down in one of the small plastic chairs. He hated being called Mr Stilinski. Even his father wasn’t called that, as everyone usually addressed him as ‘Sheriff’. Mr Stilinski sounded like his grandfather’s name.

“Stiles. Nice to see you. I just wish it was under better circumstances.” Dr Fenris says, almost sadly, before sitting back in his own seat, and booting up his computer. “Your father mentioned something about sleep paralysis.”

“It’s never happened before, and only happened once.” Stiles says quickly, hoping that that little piece of information would make the whole thing seem a little less dramatic.

“Still, suffering from any sort of paralysis is worrying, especially for someone of your age.” The Doctor replies, before scribbling down some notes on a piece of paper.

“Great …” Stiles mumbles, looking over to his father, who was wearing his ‘behave’ face. Stiles knew that face very well.

The Doctor nods to himself after finishing his notes, before turning back to Stiles with a smile. “I’m going to run a series of simple tests, just to see if we can find out what caused this. Sheriff, you may want to wait outside. This could take a while.”

The Sheriff opens his mouth, apparently to disagree, but Stiles quickly interrupts, and waves a hand casually over towards his father.

“I’m fine Dad.”

The Sheriff frowns, looking ready to argue, but Stiles just smiles, and nods at his father.

“I’ll wait outside.”

Stiles’ father stands from his seat, and sends his son one last look before turning and heading out of the room. Once the door to the office shuts, Doctor Fenris stands, and begins to collect some things from the other side of the room. Was that a needle?

“So Stiles, let’s begin shall we.”

Well, that was ominous. Stiles gulps, but doesn’t bolt out of the room like he wants to. He’s handled werewolves, he can handle a blood test.

Twenty minutes later, Stiles leaves the office feeling woozy, and slightly sick. His father smiles reassuringly when Stiles sits next to him in the empty waiting room, before nodding down at his arm.

“Blood test?”

“Yeah.” Stiles mutters, still holding a small piece of cotton over the place where he had been injected with the needle. It wasn’t even bleeding, but holding something over the spot meant that Stiles didn’t have to look at it, and he _really_ didn’t want to look at it.

“Did you faint?” The Sheriff questions, and Stiles glares at his father when he smirks.

“No. And he said that usually getting blood test results would take a few days, but they’re making an exception, so we have to wait.”

The Sheriff nods, before smirking once again. “I think that’s their way of saying ‘you’re the Sheriffs son’.”

Stiles huffs a laugh, before rolling his sleeve down over his arm, and throwing the small piece of cotton wool in the nearby bin. It didn’t even have blood on it, so that was a good sign …

Stiles and his father sit in the waiting room for two hours waiting for the results of the test. Stiles was right earlier, his father did have the night shift, and so sits with his son and makes casual conversation, telling him not to worry about being late for work. When Stiles jokes about them having to wait for another few hours, the Sheriff lightly hits his son on the back of the head.

“Sheriff, Stiles.” Doctor Fenris says as he opens his office door, and Stiles wastes no time in standing and heading into the room. He wanted to go home; he hated hospitals.

“I’m afraid that Stiles has suffered from a mild case of aconite poisoning.”

Stiles feels his eyes grow wide, but he tries to remain casual as the Doctor continues to speak.

“… have you been in contact with any poisonous plants Stiles? Or anywhere that may have poisonous plants?”

“Errm …”

“Yes.” The Sheriff interrupts, sounding less than amused. In fact, he sounded furious. “And he won’t be going back there.”

Doctor Fenris nods, before taking a quick note on the computer. “This is a very mild incident, you were lucky Stiles.” Stiles winces. “I have something you can drink once a day, for a week, and that should get any of the toxins out of your system. I would usually make a note of where this occurred, but this is Beacon Hills.” The Doctor adds with a shrug. “You’re not the first case of aconite poisoning, and you won’t be the last.” Stiles’ eyes widen at that once again, but he clears his throat before anyone could register his expression. “My advice would be to stay clear of the area, if you know where you were poisoned, and just to be careful when you’re out around local florae. Okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

* * *

“I need to call Derek.” Is the first thing Stiles says when he gets home with his father, already heading up to his bedroom before the Sheriff had even closed the front door.

“Stiles wait …” The man calls, and Stiles stops, and turns to look down at the Sheriff from where he was stood on the stairs. “Derek?”

“Yeah.” Stiles answers, but his father just raises an eyebrow in an obvious gesture that meant he was looking for a much longer answer than that. “You know, the plant was near his house. I just want to warn him.”

The Sheriff sighs, before walking closer to his son. “Stiles, I know Derek wasn’t upset about you being on his property, but – “

“I won’t be going back there again Dad. Trust me.” Stiles interrupts, and he means it.

That garden had made him feel weird before, and know he knew how dangerous the plants were, even to him, made him more determined than ever to avoid the place.

“Okay.” The Sheriff replies, nodding to himself. “I’m going to get ready for work. You going to be okay for dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll make something.” Stiles calls over his shoulder, before marching up into his bedroom, and shutting the door.

He waits until he can hear his father in the shower before calling Derek. He didn’t want the Sheriff to overhear anything, especially because Stiles was pretty sure the words ‘wolfsbane’ and ‘werewolf’ would be used at one point in the conversation.

Pulling out his phone, Stiles scrolls down until he sees the name ‘Sourwolf’. Stiles quickly presses on the number below the name, smirking quickly at the image on the caller ID of a black wolf, before lifting the phone up to his ear.

“C’mon … pick up … pick up …” Stiles chants to himself as he paces his room, unable to keep still.

“Stiles?”

“Hey,” Stiles greets quickly, before he suddenly gets distracted, and frowns to himself. “How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m psychic.” Derek replies, completely deadpan.

Without seeing the Alpha’s face, Stiles couldn’t figure out whether he was being serious or not. Although, seeing Derek’s stoic face might not have made much of a difference anyway; he was always pretty hard to read.

Stiles flusters for a moment, unsure of what to say next. “What?”

“I have caller ID Stiles.” Derek replies, before sighing loudly down the line. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Why did you call me? Do you need something?” Derek questions, and he doesn’t sound concerned, but he also didn’t sound annoyed. Stiles takes that as a very good sign, and an invitation to keep talking.

“Yeah, but why’d you think something was wrong? Something doesn’t always have to be wrong for me to call you.” Stiles insists, although he couldn’t honestly think of a time where he had called the Alpha for a casual chat.

“No,” Derek concedes, “but your heart is going crazy. I can hear that through the phone.” The man continues, and Stiles frowns down at his chest.

Derek could hear his heart beating? Woah, how strong was Derek’s hearing?

“So, what’s wrong?” Derek asks once again, and Stiles quickly snaps himself to attention. Right, he had called Sourwolf for a reason.

“Well, I just got back from the hospital …”

“You okay?” Derek interrupts, and this time he does sound a little concerned. Stiles tries not to be too distracted by that.

“Yeah, I mean no.”

Derek sighs once again, beginning to sound thoroughly exasperated with the young human. “Stiles …”

“I’m fine now. But I wasn’t … I have aconite poisoning.”

Derek is quiet for a few moments, and just as Stiles moves to say something else, the Alpha grumbles. “Shit.”

“I’m alright. Just gotta drink this stuff to get it out of my system.” Stiles says, before wondering why he had even told Derek that; he hadn’t even asked.

“It’s not bad?”

“No. It’s okay. But that’s why I called. You need to stay away from the garden. And keep everyone else away from it too.” Derek remains silent, and Stiles takes the pause to sit down on his unmade bed with a sigh. “I went to Deaton, and he didn’t recognise the wolfsbane that I took. The purple one.” Stiles adds, remembering all the different plants that were in the small garden.

“Didn’t recognise it?” Derek questions, and he sounds genuinely confused by that. Stiles had to admit, he had found it difficult to believe that Deaton hadn’t recognised the plant. He always seemed to know everything about the supernatural.

“No. He thinks it’s some kind of hybrid that someone’s creating.” Stiles continues, his eyes flicking down to the hand that had touched the wolfsbane, albeit briefly. “The point is, I only touched it for like two seconds, and I’m now sick. I’m a human so …”

“You’re worried about what it would do to werewolves.” Derek interrupts again, and Stiles nods, before remembering that Derek couldn’t actually see that.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get Peter; we’ll go and take a look at it.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, and waves his free hand around his head rapidly in a sort of ‘oh my god what the hell’ type gesture. “Was I just speaking Spanish? Did you not hear what I just said?”

“I heard you. And I can speak Spanish.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, genuinely surprised. Huh, the Sourwolf had a hidden talent …

“We’ll go and make sure it’s safe for now. I’ll try and find a way to … I don’t know, hide it.”

“Yeah, hide the toxic plants. Great idea.” Stiles mumbles, and Derek growls slightly.

“Do you have a better one?”

“Right now? No.” Stiles answers honestly. “I mean, if you destroy them or whatever, then we won’t find out whose growing them, or what they even are.”

“We?”

“Yes _we_. You’re not side-lining me on this dude.”

“Stiles, you got poisoned just touching the stuff.”

“Hey, that was my own fault. I did an Isaac.” Derek huffs into the phone, and Stiles thinks that the Alpha must have been amused by his little comment. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Me and Peter will go and check it out. Maybe take some more plants to Deaton and see if he recognises anything else.”

“Be careful. Some of those things freaked me out, and I’m not even a werewolf.”

Derek murmurs something Stiles thinks is an agreement, before going silent for a few seconds. Before Stiles could ask whether or not he was still listening, the Alpha continues.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” Stiles replies. “It’s not that bad, it’s probably going to be out of my system in few days. You know – “

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts gruffly. “I really don’t need to know.”

“Right, yeah, no problem. Shutting up now. Hey, and could you not mention this to Isaac.”

“Isaac?” Derek questions, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah, you know if you tell him, he might tell Scott …”

“I get it. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks Sourwolf!”

“Don’t call me that …” Derek growls, and Stiles bites his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“Sorry. What about Fido? Or Lassie? What’s that guy called from Twilight?”

“Jacob.” Derek answers immediately, and Stiles can’t stop himself as he bursts into laughter.

Before he could make fun of a werewolf for watching Twilight, Derek grumbles and then hangs up. Stiles laughs to himself, before falling back onto his bed. Putting his phone on his bed side table, he sees that it wasn’t really time for bed, but he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to do.

All this werewolf drama was pretty tiring, and he still had his chemistry work to worry about. Great.


	19. Chapter 19

**Tuesday 19th April**

Isaac Lahey was an idiot.

He and Stiles only had a few more chemistry classes before they would have to present what they had done so far to the class, and Stiles knew that they were way behind everyone else. They had been the last group to pick their topic, and except for writing an brief outline, they hadn’t managed to get anything else done. Other groups were more than halfway done with the entire assignment, whereas they had barely started.

So, here he was, sat at his desk, surrounded by books and piles of notes, and where was Isaac? … stood with another group at the front of the room, talking to Jackson.

Stiles sighs, and looks back down at his paper from where he had been glaring at the back of Jackson’s head. He hadn’t been doing any work either, and from the looks of the smirking and laughing that Isaac was doing every five minutes, the two beta’s definitely weren’t talking about anything remotely relating to chemistry.

The assignment they were supposed to be working on was a big deal, and a huge part of their grade. Stiles couldn’t help shake the idea that they were going to fail the entire thing if something didn’t change, and soon.

Stiles picks up his pencil, and begins to bang an erratic rhythm out on his desk as he thinks about his project. Well, it was supposed to be Isaac and his' project, but Stiles would argue that it was probably more of a single effort than a group one.

A young man who was sat across the room slowly looks up from his notetaking and glares at Stiles, until he smiles and jerkily nods, before stopping the tapping.

Looking around the room, Stiles spots Danny, appearing to be engrossed in a huge chemistry book. He raises a hand and waves in his friends’ general direction, but Danny doesn’t look up from the book. Stiles swears that his friend looked ready to drop dead, or fall asleep at his desk. After a quick look around the room, Stiles comes to realise that nearly every student has a similar if not the same look.

Scott and Lydia were talking to members of their groups, and Harris was sat at his desk at the front of the classroom, appearing almost to be more bored than any of his students.

Suddenly, Stiles leans forward and taps the young woman sat in front of him rapidly on the shoulder. He swears he sees her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh before she slowly turns. Stiles smiles widely at her bemused expression, before clearing his throat.

“Nikki?” He asks quietly, with a sickly sweet smile.

“What?” The young woman questions warily. “And since when does anyone call me Nikki?”

“From now, it suits you.” Stiles replies, and the young woman raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. “Are you sure you don’t want to swap groups? I mean, we already have an outline …” Stiles asks, holding up a single piece of paper and waving it, just to demonstrate his point.

“So do we.” Nichola replies, holding up her own groups outline. “I’m good, sorry.” Stiles sighs, and leans back into his chair in defeat. Well, it was worth asking one more time, he reasons with himself. “You okay Stiles? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” Stiles answers quickly, before wincing at how cold his reply had sounded. He smiles, trying to convey an apology in his expression. “Thanks.”

With one final nod and smile, Nikki turns, and resumes her work with her group.

Just as Stiles is about to open a new text book, Isaac walks back over to his seat, and nosily falls back into his chair.

“Finished your conversation now?” Stiles asks coldly, still flicking through his textbook. “Decided to grace your _actual_ group with your presence?”

“We’re hardly a group. There are only two of us.” Isaac argues, somewhat childishly, whilst avoiding Stiles’ gaze.

“Semantics …” Stiles mumbles.

The two young men spend most of the first hour of the class in silence. Stiles opens and closes text books, taking notes that he thinks may be useful, and spending way too much time highlighting passages just to make cool patterns. Isaac meanwhile, glares around the room, and doesn’t even pick up a pen or pencil.

Suddenly, whilst Stiles is drawing another wolf doodle, Isaac clears his throat, and turns to face his companion.

“I told Scott about the garden, and the wolfsbane.”

Stiles sighs, and resumes his sketching. “And?”

“And he said – ”

“No, I meant ‘and’ as in ‘what does that have to do with _this_ ’.” Stiles interrupts, before waving an arm erratically to signal all of the work that was crammed onto the small desks that the two men shared.

Isaac actually winces, and goes back to simply looking around the classroom, and not helping. Stiles doesn’t mind at this point. He pretty much had all the notes he needed, and wanted a break from doing anything related to chemistry. He eyes were started to blur. 

“Derek told me you went to the hospital yesterday.” Isaac says unexpectedly, and that manages to get Stiles’ attention away from the rabbit his was attempting to draw. “He said you got poisoned.”

Stiles can’t help but roll his eyes. “Derek’s over dramatic.”

“So, you didn’t get poisoned?”

“Oh no, I did.” Stiles answers, whilst tapping his highlighter on his legs. “Just not seriously.”

“You still look kinda sick …”

“Can I have everyone’s attention.”, Harris suddenly announces from the front of the room.

Stiles manages not to jump out of his chair at the sudden noise, but he does drop his highlighter on the floor in surprise. Before he could bend to grab it, Isaac rolls his eyes, and climbs off his chair. He hands it over with a blank expression, and Stiles nods his thanks, to dumbfounded to say anything else.

“You have all now had a weekend to assign roles to each group member, and create a name for your projects. We’ll go around the room now, and hear what each group has decided so far.”

Stiles screams internally.

“What do we do?” Isaac whispers quickly, as Harris points over to a group at the front of the class.

“Panic.”

“Stiles!”

Stiles tries to listen to some of the other groups, but he barely hears anything. He knew that he and Isaac were behind everyone else, but he had no idea just how behind they actually were. Jackson’s group had finished the actual written part of the project already, and were working on the presentation. No wonder the Beta had looked relaxed. Although, Stiles didn’t really think that Jackson had much to do with his groups work.

“Isaac and Stiles?” Harris asks, sounding relatively bored, and not at all like he was expecting anything good.

“We don’t -”

“It’s a botany subject.” Stiles interrupts quickly, trying to ignore the fact that everyone in the room was now staring, or more like gawking, at him. “The projects called ‘Compounds in toxic plants found in the Northern Hemisphere’. We’re mostly looking at wolfsbane.”

Suddenly, Harris stops looking bored, and his head shoots up from where he had been bent over taking his notes.

“Wolfsbane?” The man asks slowly, and carefully.

Stiles frowns, and he feels Isaac glance over at him. “Yeah, wolfsbane.”

Harris keeps looking at Stiles for longer than the young man thinks is normal. Suddenly though, the man clears his throat, and looks back down at his notes.

“Next group …” Harris says, and Nichola’s group begin to talk about their project.

“That was weird.” Isaac mumbles, and for the first time in a long while, Stiles completely agrees with the Beta.

The rest of the class goes by fairly quickly, with Harris wrapping up by announcing that the groups had three weeks to hand in their written reports. Stiles actually gulped upon hearing that, but Isaac was strangely confident about the work all of a sudden.

“We got this.” He announced with a smile, whilst gathering up his things after the bell had rung.

“Why so confident all of a sudden?" Stiles questions, cramming his own things into his already overstuffed bag. "Some people have nearly finished!”

“They rushed it. We won’t make the same mistake.”

Stiles had to admit, Isaac did have a point there. They had three weeks to get the report done, and that was more time than Stiles usually spent on most of his assignments. If he and Isaac did plenty of research, and spent a good amount of time editing, the report could turn out really well. Suddenly, he was feeling a little better about the whole thing.

“Mr Stilinski?” Harris says suddenly as Stiles was leaving the classroom.

Isaac looks over his shoulder at the man, but doesn't stop as he makes his way over to Scott, who was stood outside the classroom waiting for his beta. 

“Yeah?”

Harris signals that Stiles should stand in front of his desk, and the young man watches in silence as the chemistry teacher packs his bag, waiting for the classroom to empty.

Once the door shuts, Harris looks up.

“Are you sure about your topic for this assignment?”

“Yes.” Stiles says immediately, before noticing the strange expression on his teachers face. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Nothing wrong per say, but …” Harris pauses, and Stiles frowns. He knew that his teacher had never really liked him, and he wasn’t surprised that he had been pulled aside and not Isaac, but this was strange, even for them. “I would advise you and Mr Lahey to pick something else.”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it quickly. Harris hadn't said a word about anyone else's topics, even though some of them sounded to hardly relate to chemistry at all. 

“But, you said we could choose the topic.” Stiles reasons, and Harris sighs. That was a more normal response. 

“You can choose any other topic, as long as it relates to chemistry in some way.”

“But if we change now, we’ll be more behind than we already are.” Stiles argues. 

“I can grant you an extension.”

At that, Stiles' eyes widen. “What?” Harris  _never_ granted a extension. Even if you were in hospital, Harris would expect the work to be handed in on time. He was just that kind of professor. 

“A week extension if you change the topic today. That’s the most I can do.”

“I think we’re good. We’ve worked pretty hard on this already.” Stiles lies casually. In truth, he really didn’t want to change the subject. He and Isaac had personal interest in it, and it looked like Derek would even be willing to help out with it. 

“If you wish to continue with this then I won’t try and dissuade you. But personally, I would choose something else.”

“Okay, noted.”

Harris nods, although he looks slightly defeated, as if he knows that Stiles stubbornness will not allow him to change the topic. Stiles watches as the man leaves the classroom, before quickly following. It was lunchtime, and he was starving. 

* * *

Stiles rounds the corner to the cafeteria, and immediately bumps into Coach Finstock, who was juggling three folders, and looking more than slightly flushed.

“See you outside Stilinski!” The man calls as he passes by, not seeming to mind that he had nearly bowled Stiles over.

“Huh?”

“Lacrosse practice. You’ve got ten minutes!”

Stiles turns quicker than he ever had in his life, and all but runs to the changing rooms. If Finstock wanted him there, then that was a good sign, wasn’t it?

The changing room is packed by the time that Stiles arrives. Most of the older students who were already in the team were sat or stood by their lockers, whilst the freshmen or new hopefuls were stood near the entrance, looking out of place.

Stiles quickly walks over next to Danny, and stands awkwardly, leaning up against the lockers.

Coach blows his whistle as he enters the room. Danny and Stiles smirk at each other, knowing what reaction that would get from the wolves in the room.

“Gentlemen, and Greenberg … I have here in my hand the results from the try-outs last week. Whoever I call out is on the team. If you don’t hear your name, then sorry, no dice.”

Stiles takes a shaky breath.

“It’ll be fine Stiles.” Danny reasons from next to him, and Stiles turns to raise an eyebrow at his friend.

“I set the goal on fire …”

“Good point.”

“Lahey, Boyd, Whittemore, McCall …”

Stiles isn’t surprised to hear that the entire pack have managed to get on the team. He claps Danny on the shoulder when his friends name is called, but never hears his own.

“That’s it. If your name was called, get outside. Practice starts now! Everyone else, get back to class!”

No one argues that it was lunch break, and classes were out, but instead all of the young men scurry either outside, or back into the hallway.

“Sorry man.” Danny says sincerely as people begin to leave, and Stiles tries to conjure a genuine smile on his face.

“It’s okay.”

“Stilinski, Greenberg, get over here!” Coach calls suddenly, and Stiles nods a farewell to his friend before jogging over.

“Yeah?”

“We have the first game of the season on Thursday. I want both of you here, on the bench. Most likely you won’t play, but technically I need you just in case.”

“No problem Coach.” Stiles replies, ignoring the fact that Greenberg looked ready to argue about his demotion from the team.

Instead, he chooses to back away slowly, avoiding the inevitable confrontation that was about to happen. Stiles had never seen Greenberg look so … red.  

“Stiles!”

The young man turns, and sees Isaac jog towards him, wearing his lacrosse kit. It was like a slap to his face, but he manages to keep a causal expression on his face. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to come over tonight for a few hours? Get some work done?”

“Really?”

Isaac nods, before sighing, and lowering his voice slightly.

“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been more – ”

“Useful? Helpful?”

“Focused.” Isaac interrupts, “but I really do want to pass this thing. Please come. I’ll order pizza, and pay.”

Stiles can’t help but smirk. “Is this your way of saying ‘sorry for being a douche that hasn’t really done any work’.”

“Yes.”

“Okay fine. But I want an extra-large pizza.”

* * *

Stiles doesn't see the pack, or even Danny, for the rest of the day. After school he drives home to grab a snack, before heading to Derek's. He finds it quite amusing to discover that he easily remembers the way, despite Danny still having to guide him to his house. 

Isaac greets Stiles when he arrives, looking like he had only just arrived himself. 

“You home alone?” Stiles questions as he walks into the building that Isaac shared with Derek.

“Yeah.” Isaac answers, for some reason, with a small smirk on his face. “Want a drink?” The young beta questions as he heads into the nearby kitchen.

“Nah, I’m good.” Stiles answers, before making his way over to the sofa, and throwing himself down onto it.

“You sure?” Stiles nods, and Isaac closes the fridge door that he had been keeping open, allowing Stiles to see huge amounts of beer and cans of coke. “You know, you still look kinda pale.” Isaac says, as he wonders over to the sofa.

“I always look pale.” Stiles replies with a sigh, and Isaac nods.

“True.”

Stiles pulls out his pens and notebook, and the two young men quickly get settled, ready to get to work.

Stiles and Isaac stare, or more like glare, at the thick chemistry book sat on the coffee table. They had been attempting to work on their project for the past hour, but at the moment, they weren’t really getting anywhere.

“I need a break. My eyes are getting crossed …” Stiles mumbles, before throwing down his pen.

He begins to blink rapidly, before attempting to focus on something on the other end of the room. He moves his eyes around quickly, trying to get rid of the blurriness that was clouding his vision. 

“What are you doing?” Isaac questions, looking over at Stiles like he was mad. 

“Making sure I’m not permanently disfigured from all this note taking.”

Isaac huffs a laugh, before groaning as he stretches out his limbs. “Wanna go outside for a bit?” The beta asks as he stands up from where he had been sat on the floor, leaning on the coffee table. 

“Where?” Stiles questions, but he stands anyway. He really did want to get some air, and not have to think about chemistry for a while. 

“Please stop doing that.” Isaac mutters, watching as Stiles continues to blink and rub his eyes. “Derek is over at the Hale house. We could go visit.”

“Okay.” Stiles replies as he grabs his bag. “Just a heads up though, we might crash. I don’t know how well I’m going to be able to drive with my eyes like this …”

“That’s okay. If we crash, I’ll heal.” Isaac replies with a smirk. 

“Stupid werewolves.”

Stiles drives carefully to the Hale house. He lets Isaac choose some music, hoping that will stop them from having to make awkward conversation, but he's silently thrilled when Isaac picks up one of his favourite albums, and insists they play it the entire journey.

It is raining slightly when they reach he Hale House, so Stiles grabs his hoody from the back seat before heading out into the reserve. 

“Derek!” 

“Stiles, he’s right around the corner.” Isaac laughs as they approach the house, and sure enough, the Alpha emerges two seconds later, wearing a t shirt covered in paint. 

“What?” The Alpha questions with a smile, and Stiles can't help but smile back.

“Peter’s here too.” Isaac mumbles, and Stiles is surprised to note that the young beta doesn't sound so thrilled about that. 

Peter emerges a few seconds later, looking to be in a similar state to his nephew. “Stiles. You’re looking as pale and as human as ever.”

Isaac and Stiles snicker at that, whilst Derek just rolls his eyes. “Jokes on you.”

“Am I missing something?” Peter questions to his nephew, but Derek was already shaking his head. 

“No.”

“Stiles has powers.” Isaac says suddenly, and Peter frowns. 

“Excuse me?”

Derek sighs, and turns towards his Uncle. “We think Stiles might be a spark. Or at least, Deaton thinks so.”

Spark? Stiles thinks as Peter looks rapidly between his nephew and Isaac, almost as if he couldn't believe Derek was being serious. 

“All the useless drivel you talk to me about, and you didn’t think to mention this?”

“I told you about the wolfsbane garden.” Derek reasons, but Peter still looks less than impressed. “Besides, we don’t know anything for certain yet.”

“He set the goal on fire …” Isaac says suddenly, and Peter’s eyes widen, as Stiles quickly moves to interject.

“That might not have been me.”

“Who else would it have been?” Isaac argues, and Stiles really doesn’t have a good answer to that.

“Don’t you two have work to do?” Derek sighs, before moving back towards the Hale House. 

“We’re having a break.” Isaac responds, and Stiles nods in agreement. 

“From what? You don’t look like you’ve done anything.” Peter asks, and both Isaac and Stiles glare at him. Technically he was right, but still ... 

“How would you know?” Stiles argues, before crossing his arms just for good measure. 

“Peter failed most of his high school classes." Derek calls over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around from where he was walking to the front door of the burnt down house. "He knows exactly what ‘not doing anything' looks like.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Wednesday 20 th April **

Stiles goes straight home after school, and it feels weird. Nearly every Wednesday for the past two years, Stiles would go to Lacrosse practice after school. Today, he had been informed that he didn’t have to.

It was an unwelcome change.

The Sheriff is sat in the kitchen when Stiles gets home. The man is drinking a large cup of black coffee and reading some police files, and so Stiles just holds his hand up in a quick wave in greeting, not wanting to disturb his father, before heading straight over to the fridge. He figures that it must be important work, given the fact that his father was drinking black coffee so late in the day…

“Hey kiddo.”

Stiles shuts the door to the cupboard he had been looking through, before removing the packet of cookies he was holding in his mouth long enough to reply with a quick, “Hey Dad.”

“How was school?” The Sheriff questions casually, still reading his file.

Stiles shrugs without managing to drop anything that was cradled in his arms. He considered that to be a worthwhile achievement, considering just how much food he was carrying.

“Fine.”

Stiles hears his father huff, apparently in amusement, but he doesn’t stop digging around in the fridge. “A one word answer, that’s all I get?”

“Yep.” Stiles answers, with a wide and smug grin.

The Sheriff rolls his eyes, and closes the police file that he had been looking at so intently. Stiles is only slightly tempted to see what it is about, deciding that food was a more pressing issue at the moment. He'd be nosey later, when he wasn't so hungry. 

“Don’t eat too much.” Stiles’ father chastises, looking at all the food that his son was now transferring over to the nearby table. “We have a guest for dinner tonight.”

That get Stiles’ attention away from his cookies …

“Who?”

“Parrish.”

Stiles’ eyebrow rises at that. The Sheriff _never_ invited anyone from the station over, especially not to dinner. “Parrish? The new deputy?”

“So, you _can_ use more than one word in a sentence…”

Stiles shuts the fridge door with a swing of his hip, ignoring his fathers amused smile. “No.” The young man replies, just to be annoying.

“Yes, that Parrish.” The Sheriff replies, before standing and making his way over to the sink to deposit his now empty coffee cup. “He’ll be here at 7pm, so don’t be late if you’re going out.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Stiles calls over his shoulder as he begins to gather up his food, and head to his room. Before he leaves the kitchen, he turns, facing his Dad who was still stood over the sink. “Hey, can I invite someone?”

“Who?”

Stiles tries not to roll his eyes at the half wary and half surprised tone of voice.

“Danny.”

The Sheriff nods quickly in agreement, and so Stiles makes his way upstairs. “Sure, 7pm sharp!” His father calls after him.

“You got it!”

Stiles struggles for a full five minutes outside his bedroom door, before realising that he could just put some food on the floor, _then_ open the door with his free hand. Clearly, lack of cookies and other delicious sugary food was taking its toll on his usually good common sense.

The young man makes his way over to his desk, and sits, dispersing his goods around himself in a small semi-circle. Once he’s satisfied, Stiles reaches over grab to his mobile phone. He quickly presses his friend’s number on the speed dial, all the while trying to open a packet of Oreos with one hand, _carefully_. He didn’t want to have to deal with cookie crumbs tonight …

“Hello?”

“Hey Danny.” Stiles says, or more like sprays, crumbs going all over his desk. He quickly wipes them away as he speaks into the phone. “Listen, are you doing anything tonight?”

“You mean, apart from homework and watching Netflix?” Danny questions.

“Yes.”

“No, I’m free. What’s up?”

“Do you want to come over to dinner?”

Stiles hears his friend sigh, before pausing on the other end of the line. Stiles waits for the moment, wondering what was wrong with receiving an invitation to dinner. It’s not like he was asking him out or anything …

“Stiles, look … I really like you but -”

Oh shit, Danny thought he was asking him out.

“Danny, whoa dude!” Stiles exclaims, flailing his arms around and cutting his friend off before the conversation got even more out of hand. “I’m begging you man, _please_ don’t finish that sentence.”

“You mean, you’re not asking me out?”

Stiles lets out of breath, and smiles down into the phone.

“No! I mean, no, in a way that doesn’t sound so insulting.” Stiles quickly corrects, and Danny laughs in response. “I meant, dinner with me and my Dad. As friends, you know?”

Danny laughs again, and Stiles swears he can hear a bit of relief in the mans voice. “Sure, that sounds awesome.”

“Well, technically it’s dinner with me, my Dad and his new deputy.”

“New deputy?” Danny questions, suddenly sounding much more interested. “Male deputy?”

Stiles smirks into the phone.

“Yeah, male deputy. Young, athletic, wears tight police uniforms …”

“What time?” Danny cuts off, and now it’s Stiles’ turn to laugh.

For some reason, Stiles decides that it would be a good idea to cook dinner, and not just order it in like he and his Dad would do nearly every other day of the week. Stiles settles with roast chicken, because it seems easy enough to make from all the recipes he’d managed to get up on Google. He throws the ingredients into the oven a few hours before Danny and Parrish are due to show up, and then spends the rest of the time waiting in his room.

Ideally, Stiles knows he should be spending some time on his Chemistry work. That idea quickly went out the window however, when he realises that he would probably need to speak to Isaac about it at one point during the evening.

Dressed in a smart (ish) shirt and his favourite pair of jeans, Stiles marches down stairs to answer the door at half six, figuring that his friend was being a little too eager to meet this new deputy.

“Dude, you’re early –”

Stiles stop speaking as soon as he sees Parrish stood on the doorstep, holding a brown paper bag, and looking a little sheepish.

“Stiles right? Nice to see you again.”

Stiles stands frozen for a minute, before realising this was probably the point in the conversation where he should say something in response.

“Sorry, I thought you were my friend. He’s coming over for dinner as well.”

“Awesome.” Parrish replies cheerfully. “The more the merrier.”

Stiles nods his head quickly, before stepping back, allowing the young deputy to come into the house.

Parrish was dressed smartly, _really_ smartly, in a navy button down and black skinny jeans. Stiles was sure that Danny was going to have a field day when he got there …

“My Dad’s upstairs.”

Parrish nods in understanding as he places his brown bag onto the kitchen table. “I’m sorry. I know I’m early, I just …” The man shrugs. “didn’t really have anything better to do.”

Oh, Stiles could relate. He could relate to that really well.

“Do you wanna …” Stiles leaves the rest of the question unsaid, choosing instead to just wave his hand in the general direction of the living room.

“Thanks.” Parrish turns, but then suddenly stops himself, pointing over to the bag he’d just placed on the table. “Oh, and that’s a thank you gift. A couple bottles of beer and a bottle of wine.”

Stiles smiles widely, immediately heading over to the bag.

“Obviously just for us, hey Parrish?”

Damn it, Stiles thinks as he backs away from the bag. Sometimes having a Sheriff for a father wasn’t really good for being a teenager.

“Evening Sheriff.”

“Evening.” Stiles’ father greets, walking further into the room, and towards his son and deputy. “You’re a little early Parrish.”

“I’m sorry –”

The Sheriff holds up a hand, halting the apology. “I never said that was a bad thing. Better late than never …”

With a clap on the shoulder, the Sheriff leads Parrish into the living room. Stiles wonders about offering the two men a drink, but figures they have all night to drink beer. A little time without one couldn’t be such a bad thing …

Danny shows up at 7pm on the dot, much the Sheriff’s delight.

Stiles wishes he had his camera to take a picture when the Sheriff introduces Danny to Parrish. He'd never seen his friend's eyes so wide ... 

“Parrish, this is Danny.”

“Nice to meet you.” Danny greets as he holds his hand out for a shake. He only looks a little flustered, and Stiles has to admit, he’s impressed.

To Stiles’ surprise, Parrish pulls a face, looking down at Danny’s hand.

“Sorry man, I really don’t do handshakes.”

Stiles opens his mouth to question that comment, but Danny had already muttered something about that being ‘fine’, and was making his way into the kitchen with the two men trailing behind.

No handshakes? That was weird …

The chicken isn’t burnt when Stiles places it down on the table, and he almost feels like punching the air in victory. He almost regrets the decision to make it however, when the Sheriff utters something about Stiles cooking more often. That wasn’t going to be happening any time soon.

Parrish and Danny sit opposite each other, with Stiles taking his seat across from his father, and next to Danny. He watches closely as plates, bowls and cutlery are passed around between the group of men, and notices that Parrish doesn’t physically touch anyone. Again, that was weird … maybe he didn't like germs? But then, who doesn't like germs? Stiles think, as he spoons heaps of mash potato onto his plate. 

“So, Danny, Stiles tells me you’re on the Lacrosse team again this year?” The Sheriff says casually as everyone begins to eat the food.

Huh, it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was really good. Stiles eats with vigour, trying to ignore the fact that his father had just kicked him lightly under the table.

What? He was hungry ... 

“Yes sir. I made first line.” Danny replies politely, managing not to get any food on his own clothing as he ate. 

Stiles thinks that talking about Lacrosse would upset him, to his surprise, he feels nothing but happiness for his friend. Okay, maybe he’s a little annoyed, but that feeling was mostly directed at Coach …

“Well, congrats.” 

The Sheriff smiles fondly at Stiles when his son slaps Danny on the back in congratulations.

“You do any sports Parrish?” The Sheriff asks his deputy, and Stiles looks up from his plate for a moment to see the man’s reaction. "Gym? Running? Apart from work of course ..." The Sheriff adds with a smirk. 

“No, not really my area.”

Not your area?! Stiles thinks internally, then how the hell did you get so ripped? Will power? 

“Stiles?”

Stiles looks over to his friend quickly, trying to cover the fact that he hadn’t listened to a word that Danny had been saying, and had been staring intensely at Parrish’s chest.

“What?”

That gets Stiles another nudge under the table from his father.

“I said, are you going to try out for any other teams?” Danny asks kindly, whilst cutting up his chicken. “Weren’t you on track?”

“For about five minutes.”

“What happened?” Parrish questions and something about the way he asks makes Stiles wary. Why did he sound so … intense?

“Not really my area.” Stiles replies with a shrug, before digging back into his food.

Something was weird about Parrish. It was almost as if something in Stiles' gut was warning him that he was just, off. Last time Stiles had that feeling, it had been about Matt.

He needed to investigate …

“Why are you staring at him?”

Stiles whips his head around to look at Danny. They were both sat at the kitchen table, finishing up some leftovers as Parrish and the Sheriff talked in the living room. Apparently talking about a case couldn’t wait until morning.

“Huh?” Stiles questions dumbly.

Danny rolls his eyes. “Stiles, even I’m not that obvious.”

Stiles opens and then closes his mouth for a moment in confusion, before he realises what Danny was talking about … “No, I’m not ... I'm not checking him out.”

“Sure.”

Stiles glares, but Danny just smirks around his glass as he takes a long drink of Coke.

“Don’t you think there’s something weird about him?” Stiles questions, looking over towards the deputy quickly, trying not to be too obvious about it.

Danny looks over Stiles’ shoulder to the living room, and stares at Parrish for a few seconds, before looking back towards his friend.

“You’re right …”

“I knew it!”

“No human being should have a body like that. It’s just not fair …” Danny adds dreamily.

Stiles snaps his fingers in front of his friends face, trying to resist the urge to actually hit him. “Focus man! I mean, something … _weird.”_

Danny’s eyes suddenly grow wide, and he leans forward, lowering his voice. “He don’t think he’s _something_ do you?”

“He’s not a werewolf.” Stiles answers quickly. He honestly doesn’t know how he knows, but he does know.

“Then what –”

The Sheriff and Parrish suddenly walk back into the kitchen, and Stiles noisily stands from the table, gathering up his and Danny’s plates, even though his friend looked like he was still eating.

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t question his son’s random behaviour. Clearly, he was used to it by now.

“Danny, can I borrow you for a moment before dessert?” The Sheriff questions, and Stiles busies himself with clearing the table as his friend stands up. “My computers not working. I thought maybe you could take a look …”

“Sure.” Danny says with a smile, leaving the room with the Sheriff.

Stiles stands over the sink, trying to ignore the fact that he was now alone, with Parrish.

“Dinner was great. You’re a good cook Stiles.”

“Thanks.”

An awkward silence fills the kitchen for a few moments, and Stiles occupies himself with washing up. He can feel Parrish stood just a few feet behind him, but he doesn’t turn around.

Why? he thinks as he scraps a plate with a little more force than necessary. Why was he suddenly feeling like this? Where did it come from all of a sudden?

“You want any help with that?” Parrish asks suddenly, and to Stiles’ surprise, he realises the man was stood right next to him.

“Nope, I got it.”

“You sure? I can …”

Parrish reaches out to grab a towel, but for some reason, Stiles can’t help but reach out to grab it back, about to insist that he doesn’t need to do that.

As soon as their hands touch, Stiles can’t breathe …

It’s like an electric current, and Stiles can feel it all the way through his body.

It’s like a burst of flame running over his skin, but it doesn’t burn him.

It’s weird and terrifying and awesome all at the same time.

Almost like when he found out that the supernatural world existed …

Stiles is brought back to reality hearing the sound of his father and Danny in the room behind him.

“Power cut.” Danny says with a sigh, looking up at dark ceiling, as if he was trying to make out the bulbs.

The Sheriff was muttering, and Parrish walks towards him, away from where Stiles was stood leaning over the sink.

Had he felt it too? That weird shock.

That weird shock that had caused the power cut ... 

“There’s some torches and candles, Stiles knows where they are. I’ll see what’s going on.” The Sheriff adds, before holding up his mobile phone, obviously giving a signal that he was going to make a call or two.

The Sheriff leaves the room, maybe to find some better reception, or to see if any of the neighbours down the street had power, but Stiles doesn’t move.

He feels like he can’t breathe …

“Stiles?”

Stiles suddenly runs over to the draw in the kitchen containing the candles and torch, and throws them down onto the table in front of Danny and Parrish, ignoring the matching looks of concern.

He keeps willing himself not to have a panic attack, but he knows it’s coming …

“I’ll be right back.”

Stiles runs up the stairs, and slams the door to his bedroom shut behind himself.

“Breathe … breathe …”

Before he can stop himself, or even wonder what he was doing, Stiles clambers over to his desk, and grabs his phone.

Derek answers on the second ring.

“Something weird happened.” Stiles chokes out, not even giving Derek a chance to ask him why he was calling.

“To you? Shocking.” Derek replies deadpan, but Stiles isn’t amused.

He still feels like he can’t breathe …

“So, this guy Parrish came over today. For dinner. We were all having dinner. He’s my dad’s new deputy. Apparently, he’s from Beacon Hulls, and –”

“Stiles, take a breath, and slow down.” Derek says gruffly, and Stiles does.

He stops, and takes a deep and long breath.

“Hold it, count to three, then out.” Stiles does, his eyes shut tight as he follows Derek’s instructions. “C’mon Stiles …” Derek mutters over the line, and Stiles hears the sound of rustling from the other end.

When he feels like he’s no longer going to have a panic attack, he sighs in relief. “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“No, not really, and that’s why I called.” Stiles explains, before beginning once again, this time at a much slower speed.  “My Dad invited his new deputy over. I’ve met him once or twice before, but …” Stiles trails off, not really sure what to say next.

“Go on …” Derek prompts.

“We were talking in the kitchen, and he was acting weird."

"Weird how?"

"I don't know!" Stiles yells, before shutting his mouth tightly. He listens for a moment, before continuing in a lower voice. "Just weird. Anyway, I touched him, and the power went out.”

“Romantic …” The Alpha mutters, and Stiles actually growls down into his phone.

“This is not the time for you to develop a sense of humour!”

“Sorry.” Derek replies, actually sounding it. “Okay, so _slowly,_ explain what happened. From the beginning …”

“Like I said,” Stiles starts, moving to sit down on his bed. His legs were shaking slightly. “I just reached out to take something from him. As soon as we touched, my hand felt weird, like hot, but not really. And then all the power went out.”

Derek sighs, and Stiles wonders what expression he had on his face at that moment. He wishes he could see, but then again, Derek’s face never usually gave away his emotions.

“Stiles, it was probably just a coincidence.” Derek says after a while, and Stiles huffs.

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore.”

The young man takes a shaky breath, and stands from the bed with a groan. Even though he wanted to sit, he found himself unable to stay still.

“You okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” Stiles replies quickly, and he actually means it. He was starting to calm down, and he could breathe normally. 

“What’s this guy like?” Derek questions suddenly, and Stiles frowns for a moment at the sudden change in topic.

“Parrish? He’s –”

“Wait, Parrish?” The Alpha interrupts, sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

“The names familiar.”

“He’s from Beacon Hills.” Stiles explains, “He graduated a few years ago. Maybe five or six or something …He’s probably about your age.”

“How old do you think I am Stiles?” Derek questions, sounding quite annoyed all of a sudden.

Stiles smirks into the phone. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Derek sighs once again, and Stiles figures that was a clear ‘no’.

“I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows anything about him.”

“You? Talk to people?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No …”

“Stiles, it was probably just a weird coincidence. But …” Derek adds, probably hearing that Stiles was about to form a reply, or more like, disagree with him. “just in case, I’ll investigate.”

“Thank you.” Stiles says, and he really means it.

“No problem. Get some rest.”

“Sure thing Sourwolf.”

Derek hangs up with a growl, although it didn’t even sound that annoyed.

Stiles makes sure he’s feeling better before heading downstairs, not wanting to have a panic attack after he’d made such a nice meal …

Danny is sat on one of the sofa’s in the living room, and with a quick look, Stiles realises that his friend was alone.

“Where’s my Dad?”

Danny whirls around quickly, smiling as Stiles walks into the living room. “Talking to some neighbours. Parrish had to go home.”

Yeah, Stiles thinks, I bet you did.

“I’m sorry man. I didn’t mean to just leave you …” Stiles says, rubbing a hand through his hair, and sending it in all different directions.

“It’s fine Stiles.” Danny answers with a warm smile, and Stiles smiles back. “More than fine actually.”

Stiles frowns at that, and cocks his head. “Really?”

“Are you kidding? I got to spend alone time in the dark with Parrish.”

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard he’s almost scared they’ll fall out of his head.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a lift home...”

Danny gently pats Stiles on the back as he passes him, heading out side to where he'd parked his Jeep. Stiles leaves the dark house, hoping that the power would come back on soon. After all, he had homework to do. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Thursday 21 st April**

It was rainy, wet and windy. Stiles wanted nothing more than to be at home in his Avengers pyjamas; watching television and munching on some sort of unhealthy snack.

Unfortunately for him though, Coach had had other ideas.

“Whittemore! Get in there!” The man rapidly waves his arms towards some of his young team, screaming at the top of his lungs to be heard over the crazy unseasonal weather. “Danny, MOVE UP! MOVE!”

Stiles watches the first lacrosse game of the season with a limited amount of interest. He normally wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from the field, but this time, and this game, was different.

It was hard for him to watch the game knowing that he didn’t really have anything to do with it. He wasn’t playing, and it was very likely that he wasn’t going to play, but here he still was, sat on the furthest bench from the pitch. Coach had insisted that he be at the game, saying that they _technically_ needed two extra players on standby who would be able to play in case they ran out of people on the bench. It never really happened. Stiles couldn’t remember a time when all five of the players on the bench had been in a game at the same time, leaving the bench empty.

Clearly coach was worried about injuries.  It was an insurance policy to have two extra players waiting in the wings. Stiles understood that, but he still hated that he was getting soaked to the bone just to watch his old team get beaten by one of their oldest rivals. Plus, Greenberg hadn't even bothered to show up. Considering how badly Beacon Hills were loosing, Stiles wishes he hadn't bothered either. 

“Move it McCall! MOVE IT!”

Stiles looks over to the long bench at the front of the pitch holding the rest of the Beacon Hills lacrosse team who weren’t currently running around on the field in the wind and rain. He remembers fleetingly his many matches sat on those cold wooden seats, watching and cheering his friends and team mates.

In an average game nearly half of the kids on the bench would be unable to play for some reason or another. Some hadn’t been to practice in weeks and so Coach would never put them on the field, some didn’t have the proper kit with them, some were already injured from another game… But yet, there they were, in the team, and here Stiles is; not even on the _actual_ bench.

Coach suddenly blows his whistle; the sharp sound echoing over even the cheers of the crowd, and the sound of the players on the field. “TIME! I need a time out!”

Coach actually jogs onto the field, which Stiles gawks at for a moment, not used to seeing such a display from his teacher. He quickly makes his way over to two freshmen who had only just joined the team. One was limping badly, supported by the other, but Stiles couldn’t make out his injury from where he was sitting.

Lacrosse is a pretty deadly sport. It wasn’t strange for Stiles to come away with bruises, headaches and ringing ears after a game, and that was just when humans were playing. Werewolves made the whole thing a lot more interesting, and a whole lot deadlier.

As the two freshmen and Coach get further towards the crowds on the bleachers, Stiles manages to see who it is that is injured. He is young, definitely a freshman, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He hobbles unsteadily on one leg, and it was clear to Stiles after getting a good look that his leg is badly broken. The kid had to be in a huge amount of pain, but Stiles couldn’t see any of that on his face. The freshman just looked pissed, _really_ pissed.

“Mason, get Dunbar to a hospital or an ambulance,” Finstock pauses for a moment, frowning at the odd expression on the young mans face. “Or an asylum or something. I don’t care! Just get him patched up.” Mason makes his way off the pitch with his friend, apparently not at all annoyed that he was also out of the game. Stiles can’t help but envy this Dunbar kid for having a friend like that. “You two!” Coach jabs his finger over to another two freshmen sat on the bench. “You’re up!”

The two share a nervous glance, before standing and throwing on their helmets, and jogging onto the pitch. The crowd applaud politely, having not seen these two particular kids play before, and saving the actual cheering for their favourite players; like Jackson.

Just as the applause dies down, the Sheriff slides into the empty seat on Stiles’ right hand side. He doesn’t even look away from the field.

“A lot of kids coming off the bench tonight…” The Sheriff observes, looking down at the nearly empty bench. Only three players left, and one of the them looked like he was asleep. 

Stiles huffs, and rolls his eyes, hearing the hidden meaning in his fathers comment. “I’m not gonna play dad.”

His father looks sympathetic for a moment, before suddenly patting Stiles quickly on the leg, and turning back towards the field.

Stiles looks over at his father, and is unsurprised to see dark circles under his gleaming blue eyes. Clearly whatever had made his father late to the game wasn’t good …

Coach starts blowing his whistle rapidly, obviously giving his signal that the team should huddle up. Stiles nearly stands up automatically on instinct.

The rival team also move to huddle up, and Stiles actually huffs out a laugh when he spots a very memorable player from the away team. 

“Who the hell is that?” The Sheriff questions, clearly spotting him as well.

The kid had to be a senior, as Stiles had seen him in nearly every game since he had joined the Beacon Hills team. He must be at least seven foot tall, and his fierce expression only added to his terrifying appearance.

“We called him Mountain. Well, the team called him that.”

“Original.” His father replies, dryly.

“Yeah well, he lives up to the name.”

“I can see that …”

Around halfway into the match, Stiles begins to think that they should have really called Mountain something else. Maybe ‘Crippler’ or ‘The-man-who-breaks-bones’. That seemed more appropriate, given how he was playing tonight.

Two more freshmen are taken off the pitch with injuries, both inflicted on them by the massive senior. Stiles swears one of them must be concussed, as he swayed dangerously with a huge grin on his face as he was led off the pitch.

Stiles applauds automatically with the rest of the crowd as another member of the team is taken off the pitch injured, before he notices who it is that is cradling his bruised and battered hand to his chest.

Stiles cups his hands over his mouth, and calls down to his friend. “Danny!”

The young man doesn’t look up as he is sat down onto the bench. A school nurse approaches him, looking worried, and Stiles decides that he should probably go and see what was going on. Danny had never been taken off the pitch like that before …

“I’m gonna …” Stiles points over to Danny and the bench, already moving out of his seat.

He doesn’t wait to hear a response from the Sheriff, knowing that he’ll probably end up having to go back to his seat in about five minutes anyway.

Danny looks pale when Stiles slides onto the bench next to him. The young man shivers slightly from the cold, and so Stiles reaches behind the bench to grab a spare hoody, and wrap it around his friend’s shoulders. It was already muddy and wet, but hopefully it would help keep his friend a little warmer.

“That guy is a dick.”

Stiles huffs a quick laugh, knowing exactly who Danny was talking about. Yep, Stiles thinks ‘The-man-who-breaks-bones’ is a name much more suited to the massive senior.

The nurse shoots Danny a glare as she massages and moves the young mans injured hand. Stiles thought a nurse would have been used to hearing worse language than that.

Stiles nods in agreement at his friends comment, and pulls his lacrosse hoody tighter around his body. It was getting colder, and the young man was already wet from the rain.

He misses his warm bed, and his laptop. A new show had just been released on Netflix, and he’d really wanted to check it out …

“STILINSKI! You’re up.”

Stiles head shoots up so quickly rain drops shoot out in different directions. He almost looked like a wet dog shaking himself dry.

“Me?”

Coach rolls his eyes as he stands looming over Stiles and the bench. “Is there another Stilinski on this continent?”

“My Dad?” Stiles suggests.

Coach reaches down in one smooth movement, and grabs Stiles by the collar. He pushes Stiles silently towards the gym entrance, and the young man takes that as a silent order; go get changed.

Stiles doesn’t jog, even though he knows he probably should. The game was nearly over, and the Beacon Hills team were only a few goals behind. There’s no way they could win without a full team on the pitch.

Stiles walks over to his locker, and opens is quickly. Pulling out his spare kit, he then throws it down onto a nearby bench. After finding out he wasn’t on the team anymore, Stiles hadn’t been able to bare the idea of walking into the locker room to remove his kit and clear out his locker. It would have just been too embarrassing …

“I thought you weren’t on the team anymore.”

Embarrassingly, Stiles is in the middle of taking off his thoroughly soaked t shirt when he is surprised by the deep but familiar voice. He flails and struggles for a moment to get the shirt off his head, and flushes a deep red when he notices that Derek was smirking at him.

“Dude, knock or something.” Stiles retorts grumpily, before rooting around in his pile of clothes for his shorts. He _really_ didn’t want to wear his shorts …

“Sorry.” Derek walks further into the locker room, and away from where he had been lurking in the shadows.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you, but you’re busy.”

Stiles sighs, and stops for a moment. “I’m still not on the team.” Derek just raises an eyebrow as Stiles pulls on his Lacrosse shirt. “Okay, well _technically_ I’m not. Coach is just really desperate for players right now.”

“I see.” Derek replies strangely. Suddenly the Alpha nods his head, and walks towards the door. “Well, break a leg. Not literally.”

“Where are you going?”

Derek turns to look at Stiles over his shoulder, his hands deep in his leather jacket pockets. Was he cold as well?

“I’m here now. I might as well watch the rest of the game.”

Stiles gawks at Derek’s retreating back, before the young man remembers that he is supposed to be getting changed. Right, Lacrosse right now, werewolf and weird stuff later…

When Stiles jogs out of the gym, he is immediately grabbed by Coach and herded towards the pitch. A quick look at the score board show Stiles that the team is two goals behind. If they can get three goals in the next ten minutes, they’d win the game.

No pressure.

“Just get out there, and _avoid_ the ball.” Coach hisses as he leads Stiles onto the pitch.

“What?”

“Clear the way for the others to score.” Some of the other team members give Stiles strange looks, clearly as confused as he was as to why he was suddenly back on the team.  “Just, don’t get in the way.”

Stiles stands in position as the referee moves to take his place in the centre of the pitch. The young man surveys the team quickly, before nodding to Finstock.

“You got it, Coach.”

Stiles remembers as he is running around the field, whey the Beacon Hills team hated this rival team so much. They were sneaky, and didn’t fight fair, at all.

Stiles manages to dodge ‘the-man-who-breaks-bones’ just in time to avoid getting squashed, but a poor freshmen isn’t so lucky. Stiles glares at the giant senior as he laughs when the kid is dragged from the pitch by the school nurse. That had to be six people that he’d injured. Stiles was starting to think that he was enjoying it.

Suddenly Stiles hears the sound of a shrill whistle, and quickly moves back to his position on the pitch. They needed to score a goal, and soon.

Once play begins again, Isaac moves faster than any human could, whizzing past Stiles in a blur to head towards the ball. Stiles stands back, trying to block the goal from the other team. _I’ll be a distraction_ Stiles thinks when he watches Jackson take out some poor kid, _they won’t come for me because they won’t think –_

Stiles’ train of thought is quickly ended when what feels like a car suddenly rams into him, knocking him flat on his back.

He hears the crowd boo, and a deep raspy voice laugh somewhere above him.

Stiles was going to kill that stupid Mountain kid.

He flails around on the ground for a minute, trying to get back his sense of direction. Didn’t Jackson have the ball on the other side of the field? Why the hell had the kid tackled _him_?

Coach suddenly runs onto the field over towards where Stiles was led, and  Stiles wishes he could tell him to stop blowing his whistle every two seconds. He was getting a serious headache.

“Stiles! You okay?”

Scott looks down at his crumbled body with concerned eyes, but Stiles ignores his friends expression, instead taking the offered hand and pulling himself off. Some more members of the team had gathered to make sure he was okay, and so Stiles tries to just smile and shake it off. He was sore, and was sure that he’d have a nice bruise, but he’d had worse.

“What the hell was that? Control your team!” Coach yells, as the crowd continues to boo and yell. 

“It’s Lacrosse, not ballet!”

Stiles ignores the argument passing between the two Coach's, and instead looks out towards the crowd, trying to spot his father. He knew the Sheriff was probably either pissed beyond compare at the kid who knocked him down, or more likely, he was scared that his son had just been crushed to death.

The young man figures a smile and a wave would help calm his father’s fears.

As the Sheriff waves back, Stiles notices that someone had taken his spot next to his father, where he had been sitting earlier. Derek. 

He nods to the Alpha, and Derek nods back quickly. 

“You okay man? That kid really got you.”

“I’m fine Isaac.” Stiles answers distractedly, already heading back over to his position.

Suddenly, the referee blows his whistle. “Free shot to Beacon Hills!”

The crowd go crazy, knowing making this shot could mean they have a chance of winning the game. Stiles hopes the referee doesn’t insist that he make the shot. Annoyingly, his hands were shaking.

Finstock blows his whistle _again_ , and Stiles has to hold back the urge to strangle him with it. 

“Jackson! You’re up!”

Stiles watches with a small smirk as Jackson steps up to the goal, about to take the free shot. He ignores the pain in his ribs and back, and instead enjoys the look of complete fear on the goal keepers face. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Jackson was showing his stark blue eyes.

The crowd scream and cheer when the ball hits the back of the net, but Coach doesn’t give the team time to celebrate before he is screaming at the team to get back into position.

Two more goals, and they’d win the game. 

A freshmen from the Beacon Hills team manages to score a goal, much to the delight of Coach and his friends. Stiles had to admit he was impressed. The kid was clearly going to go far -

“Stilinski!”

Stiles jolts himself back into reality, and notices that the muddy Lacrosse ball was suddenly sitting near his feet. How?

“Move Stilinski!”

Stiles doesn’t wait to be asked twice. He scoops up the ball in one clean movement, before running as fast as he can to the other side of the pitch. Most of the players, including his own team mates, don’t seem to even notice him, or the fact that he had the ball.

He weaves his way around the kids of the field, half of whom are looking around confused, almost as if they didn’t know what was going on.

Mountain suddenly spots Stiles from across the field. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever run faster in his life.

“THROW THE BALL!”

All Stiles can hear is the pounding in his ears, and the screaming of the crowd and Finstock. He runs towards the goal, knowing that he was close enough to take a shot, but not a good shot.

_“You want to throw it as strongly, and as fast as you can. If I can’t catch it, then the goal keeper definitely can’t.”_

Stiles throws the ball.

He scores.

* * *

Things start to get weird after that. People are patting Stiles on the back, congratulating him, telling him that was one of the best goals they’d ever seen.

Stiles is stood frozen to the spot, his Lacrosse stick still in his hands.

Suddenly, someone picks him up from behind, spinning him in a semi-circle before placing him back down.

“Stiles, that was awesome!”

“WE WON!”

“That was a wicked shot!”

Stiles nearly faints when he hears a soft, “Nice shot.”, coming from Jackson.

The crowd descend from the bleachers, and most run onto the pitch, yelling and laughing. You’d think it was a final or something, not a friendly game at the start of the season.

“Good shot Stilinski.” Finstock says, appearing suddenly from the crowd. He claps Stiles on the back, and walks away without another word.

Suddenly, Stiles spots his father, and walks over towards him, smiling. He tries to ignore the cheering team and screaming teenagers, his headache beginning to come back once again.

Before he manages to say a word to his father, Stiles notices that Derek was standing next to the Sheriff, smiling slightly, and dare he say it, looking impressed.

“Congratulations.” Derek says evenly, and Stiles has to worry his lip to stop himself from smiling.

“Thanks.” He replies instead. “I had a good teacher.”

Derek does really smile then, but quickly drops the expression when the Sheriff walks forward, and envelops Stiles in a hug.

“Congrats son! That was brilliant.”

“Thanks Dad!” Stiles tries not to wince as his father steps back and releases. Yep, that guy really did crush him earlier. “I do want to get out of these clothes now though.” Stiles adds, motioning to his muddy shorts and wet shirt. 

“Well, I’ll go say goodbye to Melissa, and then I can give you a lift.” The Sheriff replies, clapping his hand on his sons shoulder, before surveying the pitch, obviously looking for Mrs McCall.

“Sir, if you want to stay and talk, I can drop Stiles off.” Derek says suddenly, and both Stilinski’s turn to look at the usually silent and stoic man.

“Thank you Derek, that’s very kind but - ”

“No, it’s cool Dad.” Stiles interrupts, trying desperately to sound casual. “You haven’t seen Melissa in like, forever, so …” He waves a hand flippantly as his father looks between his son, and Derek.

“Ok.” The man finally says with a smile and a nod. He claps Derek on the shoulder quickly. “Thank you Derek.”

“No problem sir.”

“Call me tomorrow morning, let me know when you’ll be home.”

The Sheriff begins to walk over towards the bleachers, clearly still trying to find out where Melissa had gone.

“Ok. No wait, wh –” Stiles trails off as his father is swallowed by the crowd, clearly unable to hear him anymore. “Tomorrow morning?” He questions out loud, and just Derek shrugs.

Unexpectedly, Scott jogs over to the two men, smiling quickly at Derek, before turning to his old best friend.  

“Stiles! Hey man, you ready?”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

“The party! Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Stiles grinds his teeth together. “No.”

“Oh.” Scott looks genuinely confused for a moment, before he shakes his head, his smile coming back onto his face. “Well Lydia is having a huge party. Everyone’s going. Her mum says she can use the lake house, so we don’t all have to sleep-“

“Sorry Scott, Stiles can’t.”

Scott and Stiles turn in unison to look, or more like gawk at Derek, who was avoiding their gazes, and instead looking behind them somewhere.

“Stiles can’t?”

Derek looks down at Stiles, then back to Scott.

“His Dads saying goodbye to your mom, and then I have to take Stiles home.”

“What? Are you grounded or something?”

“Yes!” Stiles yells, with a little too much enthusiasm. He quickly clears his throat, and tries to look solemn. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, I’m grounded, sorry.”

“Oh, why?”

“Scott! You coming?” Boyd yells from the other end of the field, his arm around Erica’s shoulders.

None of the pack even look over at Stiles, but instead, they all give a quick nod or a smile to Derek stood by his side.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there!” Scott calls back, before turning back to his friend and his Alpha.

“You go man, have fun at the party.”

Scott smiles, before turning, and running quickly over to his pack.

“I’ll call you!” The young man calls over his shoulder.

“No you won’t …” Stiles says quietly, with a sigh.

Stiles and Derek stand on the pitch for a few minutes, watching the teenagers and adults begin to disperse and head home. Loads of students whoop and cheer, yelling about the party, so Stiles figured it was going to be big. It made him want to go even less …

“C’mon.” Derek says, brushing his shoulder up against Stiles' briefly as he walks past him, heading for the car park. “I’ll even let you pick the music.”

“Wow again? You are so going to regret you said that.”

Derek sighs, but it doesn’t sound annoyed; more fond. “I already am.”

Stiles carefully puts his bag and Lacrosse stick in the back of Derek’s car. He doesn’t bother getting changed out of his kit. He really didn’t want to head back to the locker room where some of the team still where. He had enough of screaming teenagers for one night.

The young man falls into the passenger seat with a huff, waiting for a moment as Derek messes around with some dials, apparently turning the heating on.

So he was cold.

“Oh man, I’m screwed. I am so totally screwed.” Stiles mumbles. “I mean, Scott’s going to ask Melissa why I’m grounded, and my Dad said I wasn’t grounded anymore. Scott’ll know I lied to him, and …”

“Your Dad told Melissa you were grounded.” Derek interrupts, before pulling the car out of his parking space.

“What?”

“I heard him, that’s why I said it.” The Alpha continues, before shooting a quick look over to his human companion. “Melissa asked how you are, the Sheriff said ‘good, but he’s grounded’.”

Stiles nods, understanding.

“So, Melissa and my Dad think I’m at the party …”

“And Scott and the others think you’re at home because you’re grounded. You’re pretty much free to do what you want.”

Stiles smiles. “Dude, thanks.”

“No problem. I figured you deserved it after winning the game.”

“It was totally awesome!” Stiles yells, before throwing his hands in the air. Unfortunately for him though, Derek’s Camaro wasn’t that big. His hands hit the roof with a thud. “Ow …” Stiles moans as he shakes his hands above his lap.

“Don’t break my car.” Derek says gruffly, and Stiles waits until he turns to put some music on, and then sticks his tongue out at the Alpha, just because he can.

“You know, you don’t have to call my Dad ‘the Sheriff.”

“So, do you want me to take you home, or to the party?” Derek asks, clearly ignoring Stiles’ comment. The young man remains quiet for a moment, and Derek sighs.  “Stiles, your Dad thinks you were invited, you can go if you want to.”

“I know, but I kinda wasn’t.”

“What?”

“Oh c’mon. Scott practically ran up to me at the last minute, expecting me to be free and have no other plans.”

Derek pauses for a moment, appearing confused. “You don’t have other plans.”

“Shut up.”

“We could hang out.”

Stiles stops fiddling around with the radio long enough to look over at frown at Derek. Invitations to ‘hang out’? That was new.

“What?”

“At the loft.” Derek continues, as if Stiles didn’t know what he was talking about. “I have an Xbox now you know. And we can order pizza …”

“Hang on for a sec. I think I’ve just entered an alternative reality.”

“We hang out all the time Stiles.” Derek replies with a sigh.

“No, we don’t ‘hang out’, you let me throw balls at you in the woods and yell at me as I jump over trees.”

“Well, maybe we should hang out.” Stiles opens his mouth to reply, and then closes it. Derek quickly turns to look at his passenger, before turning back to the road with a blank expression. “Or, you could call Danny?”

“Danny was going to the party. I saw him get in Jackson’s car with Lydia.”

“I can take you -”

“To your place.” Stiles interrupts, before holding up his hands. “Let’s ‘hang out’.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Stop with the air quotes. I’m being serious here.”

Stiles very purposely uses them again, saying “’Sorry’”

Derek growls, but Stiles doesn’t get his faced shoved into anything. He counts that as progress.

* * *

A strange and sudden awkwardness descends on Stiles as soon as Derek slides open the doors to his loft. The Alpha doesn’t seem to sense it, already being in the process of shrugging off his leather jacket.

Stiles walks towards the sofa slowly, taking the time to be nosey and look around the living room as he goes. Well, he thinks it’s the living room …

The familiar sofa was still in its normal place, but it had accompanied by some new chairs and a bigger coffee table. The big change though, is the massive television sat on a sleek black stand. Stiles gawks as he takes in the collection of entertainment underneath the plasma screen. An Xbox One, PS4, Blu ray player … 

“I brought some more stuff down, for you and Isaac.” Derek explains from the kitchen, and Stiles looks over his shoulder at the Alpha. “I figured you could use some actual furniture to work on instead of the floor.”

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Yeah, the extra chairs are cool.” Stiles agrees as he sits down in one of the new navy armchairs. “But all that’s not exactly good for working and not procrastinating.” Stiles adds, waving a hand randomly at the games consoles.

Derek tilts his head in confusion as he walks back into the living room, carrying two brown bottles.

Seeing Stiles staring at the television, Derek suddenly smiles. “That was Isaac’s idea, and Boyd’s. They thought it would be good to have something to keep everyone entertained.”

“So, you don’t use them?”

Derek sits down on the long sofa in front the tv, shrugging. “Oh, I use them.”

Stiles squints suspiciously over at the Alpha.

“Is that a challenge?”

Derek smiles quickly, before leaning over and placing a bottle down on the table in front of Stiles.

“Here.”

Stiles picks it up automatically, before suddenly realising what it was that he had in his hands.

“Is this a real beer?”

“No, it’s fake.” Derek replies, deadpan, before taking a swig of his own.

“You’re giving me beer?!”

“One.” Derek says sternly, before glaring over at Stiles. “Don’t tell your father.”

“Well duh …” Stiles replies with a roll of his eyes. “Wait, are you … scared?”

“What?”

“Dude, you’re scared of my dad!”

“He is the Sheriff.” Derek replies with a shrug, as if that was a perfectly good reason.

“Yeah, and you’re a werewolf. I’m pretty sure you could take him.”

Derek doesn’t reply, but just takes another swig of his beer. Stiles slowly brings his own bottle up his lips, and takes a quick drink. It was good; cool and refreshing. As he lowers the bottle, he notices that Derek is looking at him closer.

The Alpha suddenly clears his throat, and shifts around on the sofa.

“So, what do you want to do?”

Derek throws Stiles the remote control for the television, and the young man wastes no time in scrolling through all the entertainment and channels. Turning on a games console, Stiles then starts to go through all of Derek’s games. At least, he thinks there must be Derek’s game.  

“Oh man, I didn’t even know this was out yet!” Stiles exclaims.

Derek huffs a laugh, before standing to grab two controllers.

“I think that’s just answered my question …”

A few minutes later, Stiles feels like pinching himself, and he would, if he wasn’t concentrating so hard. Stupid werewolf reflexes.

“Dude, you’re cheating!”

“You’re distracted.” Derek replies calmly, picking up and drinking his beer with one hand, and continuing to play the video game with the other.

Stiles actually growls.

“No werewolf-y reflexes!”

“I can’t help it if I’m better than you …”

“No one is better at this game than me!”

Derek wins the round. He doesn’t stop smiling at the screen as Stiles turns to glare at him.

“Rematch.” Stiles demands, but he’s already clicking through the screens to choose another character.

Clearly, he’d picked the wrong character. _That’s_ why he lost.

Derek sighs, but it sounds more amused than annoyed.  “Fine.”

Here he was, playing video games with Derek Hale, in his apartment, that has brand new furniture … Stiles swears he must have stepped into an alternate reality, again.

He finds himself not wanting to leave it.

“Yes!” Stiles drops the controller onto his lap, and fist pumps the air with both hands. “Victory! Suck on that werewolf reflexes!”

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles continues his victory dance. Suddenly the Alpha stands from the sofa, before grabbing the two empty bottles beer from the coffee table.

“C’mon man. No need to run away in defeat.” Stiles mock whines, before pouting. 

Derek turns to face Stiles, but continues walking backwards to the kitchen. Stiles is sure that if that were him, he’d have fallen over by now.

“I’m getting some more drinks.” Derek replies with a smirk on his face. “Then I’ll kick your ass, _again_.”

“You wish.”

Derek does manage to kick his ass again, but Stiles manages to kick his ass _twice in a row._

“CHAMPION!” Stiles screams at the top of his lungs, and Derek winces.

The young man stands from the sofa with his hands in the air, and starts singing some nonsense song about kicking a werewolf’s fluffy butt. Clearly the beer was affecting him more than he thought it was.

“Okay, you win.” Derek concedes, moving to turn off the television.

“Giving up so soon.”

“Soon? Stiles it's 1am.”

“What?!” Stiles yells, whirling his head quickly around the apartment to try and find a clock.

Derek laughs at the young man’s frantic and random antics. Suddenly, the Alpha steps forward and placing his hands on Stiles’ shoulders steers him over to the nearby double bed. Derek pushes him down onto it gently, and Stiles laughs as he bounces slightly. Yep, that third beer had really affected him.

“You can stay in here for the night. I’ll take the spare room upstairs.”

“There’s a spare room?” Stiles questions, before turning his head to look directly upwards. “Wow, this place is bigger than I thought.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but Stiles can tell that he is desperately trying not to smile, or laugh.

“You should smile." Stiles says dreamily. "You look nice when you smile.”

The expression drops from Derek’s face instantly, before the Alpha clears his throat awkwardly. Stiles sighs, and begins to shift around on the bed, until he is sat on the end with his legs on the floor, and with Derek stood above him.

“You gonna be okay?”

Stiles huffs. “Tonight, or in general?”

“Tonight.”

“Yeah, this is fine. Thanks man.”

Derek nods and turns, apparently heading to the stairs. Suddenly he stops, and Stiles frowns as he watches the Alpha turn back towards him.

“Stiles …”

“What?” Stiles asks cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

“I think we need to talk.”

The young man gasps dramatically, and places a hand over his chest. He notices idly then that he is still in his Lacrosse uniform. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Shut up.” Derek sighs, before walking back towards the bed. “Scott’s still asking after you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles nods. Then he sighs. Then he huffs, and throws his back down onto the bed.

“It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“I think it does.” Stiles feels the bed dip slightly as Derek sits down next to him, but he doesn’t move to sit up himself. “He doesn’t even get why I’m so …”

“Upset?” Derek suggests, and Stiles shakes his head in disagreement.

“Angry.”

“You’re angry?” Stiles can hear the surprise in the Alphas voice.

“Hell yeah I’m angry! He left me out of the camping trip, he left me out of the pack –”

“You know that’s something he has no control over.” Derek interrupts, and Stiles groans into his hands.

“I know.”

“You’re human Stiles.”

“Allison is human.” Stiles argues childishly.

“Allison and Lydia are mates. They’re pack members by association.”

“All this werewolf stuff is confusing …” Stiles mumbles, as he rubs his head.

“You get used to it.” Derek replies with a shrug.

“I’m not.”

Both men sit and lie quietly for a moment, neither of them speaking, or even moving. Just as Stiles thinks he should sit up, Derek shifts around, moving further back onto the bed, closer to Stiles’ face.

“Stiles?”

“Hmm …” Stiles mumbles, his eyes closed.

“Do you want to be pack?”

The young man’s eyes shoot open in surprise, and he looks at his companion closely. “You mean, do I want to be a werewolf?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles pauses for a moment, truly thinking about it.

Sure, the strength, speed and healing was cool … But the secrets, lies and constant threat? Stiles wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle any of that stuff.

“I thought I did once. I changed my mind.” The young man answers honestly, before sitting up. “I saw everything that it did to Scott, and the others. All the drama, the weird politics …”

“The full moon?”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Yeah. The fur and fangs was definitely not a draw.”

“Really? I thought that you’d enjoy it.”

“What, being able to rip things apart, ‘ _with my teeth_ ’.” Stiles replies, trying and failing to sound like Derek.

The Alpha laughs quickly.

“You still remember that?”

“Dude you threatened to kill me, how could I forget.”

A strange expression falls over Derek’s face, and Stiles can’t really tell what the Alpha is thinking. “I do that a lot.”

"Threaten people? Yeah you do." Stiles agrees. “But, did you mean it?” Stiles asks, and Derek quickly turns to look at him in the eyes.

“Did I mean what?”

“When you said you’d kill me, did you mean it?”

“No.”

“Then why –”

“Defence mechanism.” Derek interrupts quickly, with a casual shrug.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Defence mechanism?”

“We were getting close. It …”

“I get it.” Stiles says, after Derek remains silent for a few seconds, even though he doesn’t think he really does get it. “So, you don’t want to kill me?” Stiles asks slowly. 

“Not right now.”

Stiles laughs. “Well that’s comforting.”

The young man turns to look over at Derek, about to say something else, when he notices that the Alpha’s eyes were glowing.

They weren’t glowing like they did when he was changing into a wolf. They weren’t red, or bright blue, or gold … They were his human gleaming grey, but Stiles could see a shine in them that definitely hadn’t been there before.

He opens his mouth, apparently about to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance.

Derek leans in slowly, so slowly, Stiles counts five whole breaths before he feels Derek’s lips touch his own. The kiss is barely more than a simple touch, but it sends a jolt through Stiles that he’d never felt before.

Not when he’d seen Scott change into a werewolf for the first time.

Not when he'd scored the winning goal in Lacrosse. 

Not when he’d touched Parrish.

Not when he’d felt his magic, or whatever it was, for the first time.

This was different. It felt, overwhelmingly perfect.

Derek pulls away even more slowly than he had leaned in, almost as if he didn’t want to move back.  

Stiles breath is coming out in pants, and his runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Derek’s eyes following the movement.

“Did you just …”

“I’m sorry.” Derek says quickly.

“Don’t.”

The Alpha frowns. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t apologise. That’ll ruin it.”

“Ruin what?”

“This …”

Stiles leans forward this time, but he doesn’t have the patience, or maybe it was restraint, of Derek. It's not slow, or elegant, or even well thought out. He pushes his lips against the Alpha’s, enjoying the feeling of Derek’s warm hand cupping the back of his head as soon as their mouths collide.

Stiles thinks that the kiss must last for an hour or more, but at the same time, the young man thinks it is over much too soon.

Stiles pulls away first, he has to, taken in deep gulping breaths, as Derek just smirks.

“Are you drunk?”

Derek frowns, his face still only an inch or so away from Stiles’ own, and his hand wrapped firmly around the young man’s neck.

“Werewolves don’t get drunk.”

“Oh, okay then.”

Stiles moves to lean forward again, but Derek sighs, and moves back.

“What is it?”

“What?”

“Stiles, I can smell your anxiety.”

Stiles winces. He really hated his body sometimes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“This is weird …” Stiles says automatically, but he quickly moves to clarify when a flash of hurt sweeps over Derek’s expression. “No, I didn’t mean _bad_ weird.”

“What did you mean?” Derek asks calmly, moving his hand from Stiles’ neck, and shifting backwards slightly on the bed.

Stiles takes a deep breath, before beginning to try and form some sort of explanation. He was really bad at this ...

“It’s you.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Yeah …”

“And it’s me.”

The Alpha sighs. “I’m not following you Stiles.”

“I just … I don’t get where this has suddenly come from.”

“You think this is sudden?” Derek asks, and Stiles notices that he actually looks amused.

“Well, it’s not for me, but for you … yeah, I think this is pretty sudden.”

Derek turns away from Stiles for a moment, and the young man has to stop himself from grabbing him, and turning him back around. He waits, as Derek moves to rub a hand down his face.

“I’m really bad at this.”

“Making out? ‘Cos I gotta say, I disagree with you there.”

Derek smirks quickly, but he still doesn’t turn to look at his companion.

“Telling people how I feel, expressing myself. I’m really bad at that kinda thing.”

Stiles nods, even though Derek wasn’t looking at him. He moves quickly to sit closer to Derek, trying to comfort him, but always just trying to get more contact. He liked touching Derek.

“So, when did this become a thing?” Stiles asks, at it actually sounds remarkably casual.

Derek smiles. “Honestly, I don’t know.” The Alpha turns back towards Stiles, that same burning look in his eyes that had been there before. “I like it though.”

“Me too.”

Five minutes later, Stiles is led on the bed, Derek looming over him. Their hands hadn’t gotten lower than there torsos’ but Stiles was panting like a maniac, and Derek looked ready to burst, or shift. Stiles didn’t know which one of those he’d prefer to happen.

Stiles moves his lips away from Derek’s to take a much needed breath, and he closes his eyes.

“Oh god …”

It doesn’t sound like a cry of pleasure, but rather, the type of thing you’d say if you just remembered you’d left the stove on.

Derek sighs, and sits back. His expression is fond, even though he looks like he’d rather be doing anything than stopping what they had just been doing.

“What’s wrong now?”

“I totally ruined it didn’t I? We were having a moment, and I totally ruined it by talking about ‘feelings’ and all that sh-”

Derek silences him with a kiss, before leaning back once again. “That was five minutes ago Stiles. Get out of your head, stop thinking, and just …”

Derek doesn’t finish, but Stiles doesn’t need him to.

After a while, Stiles finds himself on his side next to Derek, both of them kissing lazily, and Derek moving his hands up and down Stiles’ side.

The Alpha moves back slightly after a while, smiling as he looks into the young mans dilated eyes.

“You should probably get some sleep.”

“No, sleep bad, this good …” Stile murmurs, moving his hands to Derek’s shirt, and trying to pull him closer as the Alpha just attempts to move backwards.

“Stiles, you’re still a little drunk.”

“You’re the one who gave me the beer.” Stiles retorts, before smiling. “Regretting it?”

“It let you say what you were really thinking, so no, I don’t regret it.”

“Cool.” Stiles leans forward to resume their activities, before he realises what Derek had just said. “Wait, was that all part of your plan?”

“Plan?”

“Yeah, your plan to seduce me.” Stiles replies lamely, before wiggling his eyebrows. 

“I don’t need beer to do that …” Derek says, his deep voice sounding even deeper and smoother than usual.

“Holy shit.” Stiles squeaks.

Derek sits up, smiling down at Stiles when the young man just gawks.

“Go to sleep.”

“You really think I’m going to be able to sleep now? After we just did that?” Derek smirks knowingly, and Stiles turns to groan into his pillow. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re still drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” Stiles argues, although, the room spins slightly as he turns his head to look up at his companion, so he thinks that is probably a lie. “Just kinda tipsy.” The young man amends, and Derek huffs a laugh.

“You have school tomorrow.”

“Wow. If me babbling about feelings didn’t ruin the mood, then that just did.”

“Shut up, and go to sleep.”

“Going to sleep …” Stiles replies quickly, closing his eyes. “Derek?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

Derek doesn’t ask what Stiles is thankful for.


	22. Chapter 22

**Friday 22 nd April**

Stiles Stilinski is melting. He must be; that’s the only logical reason he can think of as to why he could possibly be this hot, and this uncomfortable …

Beads of sweat were beginning to gather on his pale forehead and around his neck, but he found himself unable to reach up an arm to his head to check his temperature. He was stuck, or more accurately, he was trapped.

Stiles shifts around slightly in the large bed, trying desperately to find a cold spot with his long legs amongst the labyrinth of sheets and blankets, but to no avail. Before the young man could move so much as an inch away from the heat source making his so uncomfortable, a strong arm stretches over his chest, stilling his erratic movement instantly.

“Stop. Squirming.” Derek grumbles, his voice rough from sleep.

Stiles raises his head from his pillow, squinting over at his companion. “I’m dying.” The man whines pitifully.

Derek merely huffs in response, before pulling Stiles even closer with his strong arm. A strong arm, Stiles might add, that feels like it is the same temperature as a open fire. Or a bonfire. Or a car engine. 

“You’re not dying.” The Alpha continues, almost in a tone that suggested he was relieved at that.

With a contented sigh, Derek closes his eyes, but Stiles finds himself unable to relax, much less go back to sleep.

Five more minutes, and he would be nothing more than a puddle of sweat, a ratty old t shirt and a pair of Star Wars boxers.

“Maybe not dying,” Stiles concedes, before squirming once again, trying to gain some distance between himself and the werewolf oven holding him hostage. “But I am melting.”

Suddenly, Derek retracts his broad arm, and shifts back on the double bed, away from Stiles. He looks almost sorry, before reaching up a hand to rub across his tired eyes.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles replies immediately, because it really was. The young man was already taking a mental note for next time; not to get into bed with the Alpha wearing so many clothes. That had to be a win – win situation for both of them. “What time is it?”

“About 6am.” Derek answers instantly, even though Stiles hadn’t seen him look around the room to find a clock. How long had he been awake? And how did he even know what time it was? “You snore.”

Stiles whips around his head to glare at Derek, so quickly he worries about whiplash . “I _do not_ snore.”

“Yes you do.” Derek replies, smiling broadly behind the arm that he had moved to cover his face. Even though the Alpha wasn’t looking at him, Stiles continues to glare regardless.

“My dad snores, I do not snore.” Stiles argues, shifting to sit up against the pillows.

“Your dad wasn’t here last night,” Derek ignores the muttered ‘thankfully’ from Stiles, continuing instead as if the young man hadn’t spoken. “So, unless someone else was in this bed, it was you …”

“Damn it.”

Derek moves the arm covering his face, and frowns over at his companion. Stiles sighs, and crosses his arms over his chest.

The Alpha turns then, leaning on his side, looking over at Stiles with a frown. He couldn’t understand the sudden change in the young man’s mood. It was almost as if he was upset about something …

“What?”

Stiles sighs once again, “Scott always said it was me. We made a bet and everything.”

Derek opens his mouth, apparently about to say something, but it never comes. A quick succession of beeps comes from a nearby alarm clock, and Stiles’ eyes widen when he spots the time. Sourwolf was right, it had just turned 6am.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve woken up this early on my own, _ever._ ” Stiles says, half amused and half surprised.

It was still dark outside; the large windows that made up the majority of the loft casting a dull blue glow over the sparse and nearly empty apartment. 

“You have school in a few hours.” Derek announces in his deep voice.

As if Stiles needed reminding. He had been trying not to think about the fact that he would need to climb out of the warm bed at some point, leaving a shirtless Derek to lounge about the loft, whilst he had double trigonometry first thing.

Bleurgh.

“Don’t ruin the mood.” Stiles grumbles, sinking a bit lower into the warm bed.

“What mood?” Derek asks with a raised eyebrow.

Stiles just sighs, and then turns to smirk at Derek’s confused expression. “The contented, happy, comfy mood.” The young man explains.

Derek smiles himself then, apparently in agreement.

He moves an arm to rest over Stiles head, but is careful this time not to get too close. Clearly, Stiles’ dramatics about melting had made an impression.

The mood is very quickly changed however, when Stiles sits up quickly, and his eyes shoot open.

“SHIT!”

Derek clamps his eyes shut, and sighs. “Stiles.”

“Sorry, I forgot about your wolf ears.” Stiles mumbles as he pushes back the covers and trots across the cold wooden floor to where his pants had been abandoned the night before. He tries not to smile outwardly when he remembers how they had gotten there in the first place…

_“Stiles, you cannot sleep in those.”_

_“Yes I can.”_

_“You’re not comfortable.”_

_“Yes I am.”_

_“I can tell when you’re lying. Stiles, I’m not going to do anything …”_

_“You won’t, but I might.”_

_Derek sighs. “Take them off, or I’ll take them off for you.”_

_Stiles had actually squawked then, rather unattractively. “No you won’t.”_

In the end, Derek had made good on his promise.

“My Dad might have called me …” Stiles continues, answering Derek’s unanswered question as to what had been so important to get Stiles out of bed. The young man pulls the cell phone from one of his front pockets, before dropping the pants back onto the floor of the loft. He turns it on, and waits a few seconds. Before long, the cell is buzzing like crazy, and the small lights above the screen flash several different colours.

Stiles had _a lot_ of messages.

“Someone’s popular.” Derek murmurs in his sleep rough voice.

“For once …” Stiles mumbles in response, only half joking. His humour quickly vanishes however, when he spots a certain name pop up on his screen.  “I have a message from Deaton.”

“Don’t sound so scared.” Derek replies from his place in the bed. “It’s probably nothing.”

“When did I give him my number?” Stiles questions out loud to himself.

Derek sighs.

“What does the message say?”

“ _When convenient, please come to the surgery. Have some info for you. Deaton.”_ Stiles reads, before frowning to himself. That didn't sound good. 

“See, nothing scary.” The Alpha reasons, before beginning to move around in the large bed, apparently getting up himself.

“It’s Deaton. He’s scary by association.” Stiles argues, before checking to see if he had any other messages from the man. “I always get the feeling that he’s trying to walk me to an epiphany about everything.” The young man continues, reading his next message. “I’d rather he just tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“Maybe this is something you have to figure out for yourself.” Derek grumbles, startling Stiles when he realises the man had silently moved to stand behind him.

“Now you’re starting to sound like Deaton …” Stiles replies with a smirk, before looking back down at his phone.

“God I hope not.” The Alpha says with a sigh, before he makes his way over to the kitchen at the other end of the loft, turning a light on as he goes.

“Wow.”

“How many messages did Scott send you last night?” Derek asks, strangely knowing what it was that Stiles was so shocked about.

“23.” The young man answers. “And a few voicemails …”

Stiles clicks on the first message, and holds the phone up to his ear. He doesn’t bother to put the message on speaker phone, knowing that Derek would be able to hear everything anyway.

_“Stiles! Hey man! WE WON!”_

“Did he drunk dial you?” Derek questions with a smirk.

Stiles just rolls his eyes, as he clicks on the next message his friend had left for him.

“ _SSTTTIIILLLLEEEEESSSSSS! You’re awesome man! Where are you? WE MISS YOU?”_

Stiles shuts his eyes, before quickly moving to end the message. He didn’t want to hear anything else.

Scott misses him? Stiles wonders if that was just the alcohol talking, or if his friend actually meant it.

Sometimes, Stiles had to admit, he missed Scott too.

Derek suddenly is standing before him, still shirtless, but holding a steaming cup of coffee. Stiles smiles as he takes the drink, noticing that Derek had added creamer, and no doubt a huge amount of sugar.

“Do you want a lift home?”

Stiles nods whilst he takes a long swig of coffee, enjoying the sweetness and tang of the caffeine. If this didn’t get him through trig, he wasn’t sure what would …

“Let me know what Deaton says.” Derek continues, walking back to the kitchen, no doubt to get his own coffee.

“Sure, will do.”

“Stiles …” The young man looks up from his coffee, surprised to see Derek smiling at him, his eyes bright and awake. “Last night was great.” Stiles smirks, and Derek rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Stiles protests, waving the arm that wasn’t holding his coffee.

“You didn’t need to. C’mon, let’s go, or you’ll be late for school.”

Stiles really wishes he didn’t have to go to school. He thinks about calling in sick, or just missing it all together, but a little nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him as he gets ready that yes, hanging out with Derek or researching magic with Deaton was cool, but school was important.

Hell, well the werewolf drama blew over, (and Stiles hoped that it would someday, letting him and everyone else have a fairly normal life) all he’d have left would be his health and his homework.

Supernatural drama and werewolves may have been the now, and his main focus, but his education was going to decide his future. He wasn’t going to let himself get bad grades, and be trapped in Beacon Hills forever. The town was nice sure, but working at the 24/7 gas station, or helping out in the school library for the rest of his life? Nope. Stiles wanted more than that.  

Derek drops him off with plenty of time to spare. The Alpha looks almost torn as he watches Stiles walk to his front door. The young man wonders if Derek had wanted to kiss him goodbye as much as he did. It probably wouldn’t have been a good idea, with the nosey neighbours around, and the fact that Stiles was the 16 year old son of the towns Sheriff. No, kissing in public was probably not a good idea; at least for now.

With a quick wave and bright smile, the Alpha drives away in his Camaro, and Stiles quickly jogs up to his room to grab a shower, and get ready for school, wondering all the while what Deaton could possibly want with him…

School mercifully goes by quickly. Stiles doesn’t run into any of the pack, but he does run into a few members of the Lacrosse team, and some people who had watched the match.

He gets pats on the back, shoulder slaps, high fives, about a million congratulations … all before lunch. He smiles and enjoys the positive attention, all the while, silently worrying about what Deaton needs to speak to him about. New information? That could literally be anything …

 

Stiles parks his Jeep in the space furthest away from the clinic entrance, just in case anyone he knew came to the clinic. It would be pretty difficult to explain what he was doing there, considering he didn’t own a pet.

Alan Deaton is alone in the clinic when Stiles enters, reading a book at the reception desk. He looks up when the bell chimes above the door, signalling a visitor. Stiles notes that he almost looks relieved.

“Deaton.” The young man greets, closing the door behind himself.

“Stiles.”

“You had some information …” Stiles prompts, when the man doesn’t immediately move to say something.

The vet nods, closing his book. “Come on, this way.”

Stiles follows Deaton into his small office, a place he had only visited a handful of times. It was small, but comfortable, and completely packed with books.

“Is this about the wolfsbane that we found?” Stiles questions as he sits down opposite Deaton.

“No, actually it’s not.”

“Really?”

“I’ve tested a few samples of the wolfsbane that was found in the reserve. Most are hybrids; bred for a specific purpose.”

“Which is?” The young man questions, genuinely curious.

“I’m not sure,” Deaton admits, and Stiles notices that the man sounds somewhat disappointed. “But it’s clear that the majority of the plants aren’t as toxic as usual. In fact, most have had the toxicity purposely bred out of them.”

“But, I got sick.” Stiles argues, “And so did Isaac.”

“I hate to say this Mr Stilinski, but it would appear that you and Mr Lahey were extremely unlucky. If you’ve touched some of the other plants, I don’t think you would have been affected at all, least of all poisoned.”

“Typical.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about, well you.”

“Me?” Stiles questions, before frowning. “What about this information?”

“The information is about you Mr Stilinski.” Deaton replies, and Stiles frowns even deeper in confusion.

“Me?”

“I’ve been doing some research, and Stiles, I’m slightly worried.”

The young man can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Just slightly?”

“You don’t seem to have much control over your, abilities, shall we call them? I am worried that without proper education or instruction, you could hurt someone, or yourself.”

“So, let’s just recap here;” Stiles begins, shifting on the small chair he was sat on to get closer to the man sat opposite him. He holds up a hand, counting out as he speaks. “Weird wolfsbane garden in the middle of the reserve that nearly killed me and Isaac –”

“Stiles …”

“Parrish suddenly turns up in town and we have no idea what he is, or what happened when he touched me -”

“Stiles …”

“Not to mention the fact that Scott has been acting like a grade A douchebag! All that, and you’re worried that I’m going to set fire to something?”

“Yes.” Deaton answers immediately, his face grave. “And this time, it may be something larger than a Lacrosse goal.”

Stiles has to admit, that was a very good point.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Be careful.” Deaton replies sincerely. “Don’t worry about Parrish, or Scott … Just try to concentrate on being a teenager, and your school work. I think stress and heightened emotion effects your abilities.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” The man responds with a quick nod. “Stiles, I think that your constant involvement in all things Supernatural is the reason behind your sudden increase in power. I’d like to monitor it, but to do that, I need you to work with me.”

“So, no research?” Stiles questions, only partly pleased about that. Research he didn’t mind. It was running around in the middle of the reserve at night that he didn’t like.

“Research yes. Walking out into the middle of the woods, or handling wolfsbane, no.”

“Got’cha.” Stiles responds with a nod.

He stands then, realising that that was pretty much the end of the conversation. He turns to the door, but Deaton stands suddenly.

“And Stiles?” The young man turns. “It probably would be beneficial for you to spend less time with the werewolves.”

“Beneficial, or safer?” Stiles questions, and Deaton smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Both.”

 

Stiles taps his pen rapidly against his notebook.

He was too wound up to concentrate on his work. He thought he would be thinking about Lacrosse, school, homework; but instead his mind kept drifting to what Deaton had said.

Spend less time with werewolves?

Stiles had to admit, that logically, it made sense. Werewolf drama was dangerous, and Stiles was very fragile. But werewolves didn't just mean the pack any more. Werewolves now meant Derek. Stiles didn’t want to spend less time with Derek; he wanted to spend more time with him.

He wonders whether he should call, or even text him.

Suddenly, a figure drops through Stiles’ open window, landing on his bedroom floor in a heap.

The young man stands from his desk, immediately reaching over to where he stores his, or should he say Melissa’s, baseball bat. Before he grabs the weapon, he notices who it was that had all but fallen into his room.

“Derek?!” The Alpha doesn’t respond, and just stays led on the floor. “What the hell! Dude, you scared the crap out of me.”

The Alpha looks up with a frown towards Stiles, his eyes slightly glazed over in a way Stiles hadn’t seen before. He breathes in deeply through his nose, before dropping his head back onto the floor with a thud.

“No I didn’t.”

“Derek?” The man begins to stand, and Stiles worriedly notes that the werewolf sways, and is unsteady on his usually strong legs. “You okay?”

Derek looks up towards the sound of the voice from where he had been looking, and suddenly his stern expression morphs into a wide smile. He stumbles over towards Stiles, and the young man holds out his hands automatically, ready to catch the swaying man should he fall onto the floor in another heap.

“Hey Ssssssstiles.” Derek slurs, smiling brightly.

“Dude … are you drunk?”

Derek actually scoffs then, and looks at Stiles like he just said the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard the young man say. Stiles raises an eyebrow, still holding out his hands in case Derek fell over.  

“Werewolves can’t get drunk.” The Alpha responds in an amused tone.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Derek frowns and cocks his head, before he nods, and adopts a very serious expression. “Derek, werewolves can’t get drunk …”

“Derek, what are you doing?” Stiles asks quickly, before the Alpha could say anything else, to himself apparently.

“I came to see you. I like you.” Before Stiles can even try and think of a response to that, Derek frowns, and looks over towards the young human. He suddenly leans down slightly, moving his face closer to Stiles’ and lowers his voice, as if he were imparting a secret to his companion. “I don’t like Deaton anymore …”

“Why? What did he do?” Stiles asks immediately, suddenly worried.

Had he told Derek to stay away from him? 

Derek shrugs, then shakes his head, and then nods. Stiles just stares, waiting for an answer to his question.

“He made some things for me to try … and now I feel weird.” The Alpha adds, frowning once again.

Stiles moves forward, about to ask whether or not Derek felt ill, but suddenly the werewolf smiles, and drops down onto Stiles’ unmade bed. He bounces as he lands, before rolling over onto his side so he could still face the young man stood in the bedroom.

“Okay …” Stiles drawls, frowning. “You wanna elaborate on that?”

Derek smiles dreamily up at Stiles, and in any other situation, the young man would love it. Now, Stiles was worried that Derek had gone mad. “You’re really smart.”

“And you’re really drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I didn’t drink.”

“But you did something.”

“Deaton gave us some wolfsbane.” Derek replies casually, before rolling over to lie on his back. “Some of the ones that you found. He wanted to know which one did what …”

“He gave you wolfsbane!” Stiles shouts appalled, grateful that his father wasn’t home.

“We volunteered.”

“Why?!”

“Because we wanted too.” The Alpha continues, before smiling up at Stiles. “Don’t worry, they weren’t going to kill us, Deaton knew that.”

“How did Deaton know that?”

“Because he’s smart.” Derek answers, sounding worryingly like a petulant child all of a sudden. “Like you, but not _smart_ like you.” The Alpha continues, and Stiles frowns in confusion.

“Okay, now you’re not making any sense.”

Derek sighs, and looks over to his companion. “We tested them. We took it in turns.”

“We?”

“Me and Peter.”

Stiles freezes then, understand exactly what Derek meant. Deaton was in so much trouble …

“You and your Uncle tried wolfsbane to see what it did?!” Stiles shouts, once again pleased that his father wasn’t home. “Are you crazy?”

“No. I’m not crazy.” Derek answers with a roll of his eyes, as if the question was ridiculous in itself.

“Did your mother have you tested?” Stiles questions with a smirk.

Derek lolls his head to the side, almost as if he were cocking his head in confusion. The man squints, and Stiles has to try very hard to hold back his laughter. “What?”

“Never mind.” Stiles replies with a sigh. What a waste of an awesome reference … “So, what happened?”

“Peter got sick.” Derek continues, still lounging on the bed. “That was _bad_ wolfsbane.”

“Is he dead? Dying?” Stiles asks, moving to sit down on the end of the bed near Derek’s feet.

The Alpha shakes his head.

“No. Deaton had something in case we got sick.”

“More fool Deaton …” Stiles grumbles, only half joking.

If Peter was stupid enough to take wolfsbane in the first place –

Stiles stops that line of thought immediately. After all, Derek had done it as well. Always trying to be the hero, Stiles thinks, as he looks over his shoulder towards the Alpha.

“You don’t like Peter.” Derek announces suddenly, and it’s not a question.

“No, I don’t like Peter.”

“Why?”

“Is that a serious question? Or is this your drunk brain asking stupid questions?”

“I’m not drunk …” Derek argues once again, and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud.

The Alpha was led in the middle of Stiles’ bed, his shirt riding up towards his stomach, and his hands sprawled above his head. He looked, utterly ridiculous …

“Dude, you are basically drunk.” The young man continues, but Derek doesn’t seem to be listening to him.

“Why don’t you like Peter?” The Alpha asks.

Stiles has a million reasons in his head to answer that question, but strangely, he becomes unsure what to say. After all, Derek and Peter were family, and Peter had come in handy towards the end of Jackson’s little escapade as the Kanima.

“Peter bit Lydia.” Stiles says quickly, turning back around to face his bedroom wall.

He feels Derek sit up behind him, but doesn’t turn around.

“Is that it?”

“Is that it?” Stiles repeats, annoyed. “Derek, he nearly killed her.”

“She’s okay now.” The Alpha replies, and Stiles is pleased to notice that it doesn’t sound like an excuse.

“That doesn’t make it any better …” Stiles mumbles.

Stiles feels Derek shift again, and turning back around towards the Alpha, the young man notices that he had sprawled out on the bed, and was looking at the ceiling.

“He didn’t hurt anyone else. He won’t hurt anyone else.” The Alpha adds.

Stiles thinks it almost sounds like promise.

“He’s creepy.”

“He’s my Uncle.”

Stiles sighs. He really couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah, I know.”

“We can’t choose our family.” Derek continues, sounding way too mature and reasonable for someone who was lead out like a starfish.

“No, but you can choose who to trust.”

“I don’t trust him, not yet.” Derek replies, and Stiles nods.

“Good.”

The two men sit in silence for a while, Stiles just enjoying the company, and the distraction from his earlier thoughts. Derek shifts every now and again; his fidgeting reminding Stiles that the Alpha was far from his usual self.

“You kissed me.”

Stiles turns to look down at Derek. The man was smiling up at him, his eyes closed slightly, and his cheeks flushed.

Stiles clears his throat, and tries very desperately not to look at Derek’s exposed stomach.

“Excuse me, but I think _you_ kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.” The Alpha continues, still smiling.

This time, Stiles cannot hold back a laugh . 

“You’re really cute when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” Derek argues back, before pouting.

Suddenly, Stiles phones begins to ring from where he has placed it on his desk. Derek groans and rolls over onto his stomach, apparently not at all pleased by the shrill and loud sound.

Stiles moves to answer it, but it stops ringing before he can pick it up. He doesn’t recognise the number …

“I’m sorry for being such a butt hole to you before.” Derek mumbles into the pillows under his head. “You’re really cool Stiles. You don’t know how cool you are.”

Once again, Stiles barks out a laugh. “Butt hole?”

“Yeah.”

“You just said butt hole.”

“My mum didn’t like it when we swore.” Derek explains, his face still hidden in the pillow. “We had to get creative.”

“Butt hole is pretty creative.” Stiles agrees, still looking down at his phone, and wondering who the number belonged to.

Someone from Beacon Hills maybe?

“I mean it. I’m sorry.”

Stiles looks over to Derek, and notices that the Alpha was sheepishly looking at him; his head half covered by the pillow below it. Stiles smiles, and inclines his head.

“Well thank you.” Derek smiles in response then, before closing his eyes. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Smells like you.” The Alpha replies quietly in a deep contented rumble. “Smells nice.”

“That really shouldn’t turn me on …”

Suddenly, a phone rings once again, but Stiles realises that it is not his. Reaching over to Derek, the young man carefully pulls a phone out of the Alphas back pocket. He immediately answers, hearing a growl from Derek that wasn’t a happy noise.

He didn’t want an angry Alpha in his bed.

“Derek?”

“Derek is away from the phone right now …” Stiles answers, recognising Peter’s voice immediately.

“Stiles.”

“Yes, Stiles. Do you maybe want to explain what the hell is going on with your nephew?”

Peter sighs, and Stiles hears someone muttering in the background of the call. “Hang on …”

Stiles waits as the phone is passed to someone else. Deaton clears his throat before speaking, and Stiles frowns into the phone. What the heck was going on?

“Good evening Mr Stilinski.”

“Hey Deaton, what’s wrong with Sourwolf?”

“One of the wolfsbane plants seems to have a similar molecular form to ethanol, and has a similar effect when consumed.”

“So … he’s drunk?”

“In layman’s terms, yes.”

Stiles sighs, and turns to look at Derek. “Great.”

“How is he? What is he doing?” Deaton questions, sounding more interested than worried. Stiles takes that as a good time.

“Right now? He’s rolling around on my bed, laughing to himself.”

Derek growls once again, and Stiles smirks into the phone. The Alpha was definitely rolling around, and the laughing? Well, Stiles had never seen him look so amused.

“I need to observe Peter for 24 hours, just to be sure that the wolfsbane he consumed doesn’t have any other effects.”

Stiles hears Peter mumble something, and guesses that the werewolf isn’t pleased to hear this.

“What about Derek?” Deaton only has to take a breath, and Stiles knows exactly what he is about to say. “No.”

“St –“

“I’m not babysitting. I can’t. My Dad is going to home in a few hours.”

Deaton sighs, and it sounds truly dejected.

“I understand.”

Stiles looks back towards Derek, who was smiling to himself, and clearly not paying attention to what was going on.

It only takes Stiles seeing him to change his mind.

“I’ll take him home, put him to bed, the whole shebang.”

“Sure you will …” Peter interjects, loud enough for even Stiles to hear him on the other end of the phone.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” The young man continues, ignoring Peter’s little comment.

“Thank you Stiles.” Deaton says sincerely, and Stiles nods, even though he knows the man can’t see him.

“No problem.”

“Call me if there are any symptoms.”

“I will.”

Ending the call, Stiles wonders whether he should try and put Derek’s phone back in his pocket. He quickly decides against it though. The Alpha looked happy enough, but he didn’t want to risk dealing with a startled werewolf.

“Derek?” Derek groans, and holds the pillow in his arms even tighter. “Derek, don’t go to sleep. I have to take you home.”

“Are you coming too?” The Alpha questions, and Stiles can’t help but roll his eyes.

Apparently, drunk Derek was a needy Derek.

“Yes.”

This seems to mollify the Alpha, as he lets Stiles help him get out of the bed. The young man stands with Derek for a few moments, just wanting to see if the man could stand without falling.

As he sways unsteadily, Derek smiles.

“I _really_ like you.”

Stiles barks out a laugh. “I really like you right now. You should get drunk more often.”

“I’m not –“

“I know, I know.” The young man interjects, before placing a arm around Derek’s shoulders. “But still, you’re kinda wolfsbane drunk.”

“Wolfsbane drunk. You’re funny.”

“And you’re crushing me …” Stiles groans, trying to get Derek to stand on his own feet, rather than leaning all his werewolf weight on his small human frame.

“Sorry.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Saturday 23rd April**

Stiles doesn't know when it happened, but the young man now liked Derek's loft. The wide open space, the lack of clutter and furniture, the view out onto Beacon Hills ... he found it relaxing, and a great place to think.

Although, Stiles was finding it particularly hard to think with Derek's hands running up and down his back.

After escorting the Alpha home, and physically putting him to bed, Stiles had received another call from Peter. The man had actually begged, said please, and asked if Stiles could stay with Derek throughout the night. Apparently, Creepy Uncle was concerned about his nephew. Stiles didn't buy it, not for a second, but his doubts about Peter's sudden concern for Derek didn't stop him from saying yes, and staying the night.

He was thinking about Derek after all, not himself or Peter; something that had become a bit of a habit recently.

He'd sent a quick message to his Dad, and was still hoping, eight hours later, that his father had bought the lie.

"My Dad is going to kill me..." Stiles mumbles, his face smushed into one of Derek's Egyptian cotton pillows.

They were so soft. Stiles can't help but wonder where Sourwolf went shopping for home decor. Ikea?

"He know's where you are?" Derek asks, and Stiles doesn't need to be facing the man to know that he was frowning. Apparently, big scary Alpha was still scared of the Sheriff.

Stiles hides his smile into the pillow.

"He thinks I'm at Scott's."

Derek hands stills for a second, and Stiles frowns in annoyance. He was enjoying the massage.

"Hmm."

Stiles sighs, and rolls over to face Derek. He was frowning, but still looked somewhat relaxed.

Derek was pale, no doubt still feeling the effects from the wolfsbane, and it jolts Stiles for a moment. He wasn't used to seeing Derek look so ... vulnerable.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Telling him you're with a Alpha werewolf would sound more believable, at this point." Derek replies, deadpan.

Stiles rolls his eyes. Clearly, Derek's habits were beginning to rub off on him.

"You don't think he believes me?"

Derek shifts slightly, so that he and Stiles were led side by side, facing each other. He looks solemn, almost apologetic, as he speaks. "I think the Sheriff know's something is going on; more than you're telling him."

Stiles nods. He know's what Derek is trying to say, even though he hasn't actually said it.

How many crime scenes must have his Dad appeared on, having no idea what had happened? How many times had he wondered where Stiles was, having no clue that his son was running, literally, with a pack of werewolves? And a banshee, Stiles adds internally. He wonders for a moment how he could have possibly forgotten Lydia.

"I'll have to tell him, won't I?"

"Maybe not right now, but eventually?" Derek shifts, and Stiles can tell that if he wasn't led down, it would have been a shrug of the shoulders. "Yeah."

"That's going to suck."

Derek moves slowly then, wiggling his arm underneath Stiles' head. The young man doesn't move, but just smiles as he watches the Alpha. Derek closes his eyes, and let's out a happy sigh of contentment.

Stiles thinks 'happy and content' Derek must be his favourite Derek.

But unfortunately, Stiles is Stiles, and he can only take contented and relaxed silence for so long.

"Which famous people do you think are werewolves?"

Derek cracks open one eye. "What?"

"You know, famous people being werewolves. Or witches. Or whatever ..."

Derek sighs, closing his eye. He begins to shift around in his bed, apparently trying to get more comfortable.

Stiles moves to open his mouth -

"Stiles, shut up."

"No but seriously, some of them have to be werewolves." The young man protests. "Statistically-"

"Stiles, I am begging you, please stop talking."

Stiles smirks slightly. "Are you hungover?"

"For the last time, I wasn't drunk."

"No, not drunk. Just you're usual Sourwolf self. Because you always giggle to yourself for an hour straight, and hump my bed."

Both of Derek's eyes shoot open then, and Stiles bites his lip to stop himself from laughing. Suddenly, Derek's angry face didn't scare him. Now it had the opposite effect.

"I did not-"

"Yes you did big guy." Stiles interrupts, with a quick nod of the head. "Quite a lot actually."

"Can we please talk about something else?"

"You mean like-"

"Not famous people who may or may not grow claws."

"Fine." Stiles pouts. The two men lay in comfortable silence for a little while longer, Stiles enjoying the fact that he didn't have to worry about getting up and heading to school. His Dad would be home in a few hours though, so he did have that to worry about. He tries to distract himself, by turning and looking at his dozing companion. Suddenly, Stiles frowns. "You smell different."

Derek smirks, his eyes still closed. "Now who's acting like a werewolf ..."

"Seriously dude, you smell weird."

Derek sighs, obviously realising that the contented moment was long gone. Stiles wasn't going to let this guy. The Alpha sits up, looking down at Stiles with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you just call me dude?"

Stiles sits up himself then, ignoring the comment.

"It smells kinda like ... smoke?"

"It's probably the wolfsbane." Derek answers, not seeming to be the least bit worried, or concerned.

Stiles frowns again then, even more confused than before. "Smoke? Wait ..." Derek actually winces slightly, and Stiles' mouth falls open in shock as he realises. "You smoked it!?"

Stiles freezes then, his voice still echoing throughout the loft. He claps a hand over his mouth, kicking himself for forgetting that the loft was pretty much empty, which meant everything echoed, very loudly.

"My very human neighbours live about three miles away Stiles, and I'm pretty sure even they heard that."

"You got high on wolfsbane?" Stiles squeaks, purposely keeping his voice as low as possibly.

"I thought we'd already established that."

"So you weren't drunk ..." Derek shrugs, and Stiles sighs. So, all of the arguing Derek had been doing yesterday was actually for a reason. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that you burn wolfsbane? You know, when you use it to heal yourself?"

"Yeah, Deaton thought that burning-"

"Smoking."

"-it would have a similar effect." Derek answers, ignoring Stiles' little interjection. "It counteracts the toxins."

"So, your body can figure out how to fight it and heal, because the burnt wolfsbane acts like a ... antidote?"

Derek smiles. "Yeah."

"You don't sound so sure."

"You're the smart one." Derek says, before crossing his arms over his chest. The comment didn't sound mean though, or even like a joke. Derek sounded deadly serious. Any other time, Stiles would smile, but now he was still thinking about the fact that the Alpha had willingly taken wolfsbane.

Idiot.

"Considering I didn't smoke something that could kill me, yes, I am the smart one."

"It wasn't going to kill me. Deaton had more wolfsbane we could have used to trigger the healing, if we needed it."

Stiles opens his mouth, but then closes it. He didn't want to argue.

"I'm glad you didn't need it."

Derek turns to look at Stiles, a smile on his face. Stiles blushes under his gaze, and shifts down deeper into the bed.

"Worried about me?" The Alpha questions, still smiling.

"Considering you get kidnapped, attacked and hunted on a weekly basis, yes Sourwolf, I worry about you."

Stiles hears a sigh from above him, and pulls the blanket over this face. His face must be really red ...

"You're the fragile human."

Stiles scoffs. "Yes, but I also have a baseball bat, and a secret stash of wolfsbane."

"It's in your wardrobe."

Stiles rips the covers from his face, and gawks up at Derek, who was still smiling. "How-"

"I can smell it every time I go into your room."

The young man frowns, and moves to sit up and face Derek. He couldn't remember a time he had seen the Alpha look so ... happy.

"Don't touch it."

Derek huffs out a laugh. "Why would I touch it?"

"Okay, not touch it, don't smoke it." Derek glares, and Stiles holds back a laugh, and attempts to keep a straight face. "I don't want to start dating a stoner."

He laughs, but Derek's face had gone oddly still. Suddenly, Stiles realises what he had said.

Dating? Oh shit ...

"We're dating?" The Alpha questions, as Stiles quickly pushes back the covers, and stands from the bed.

Mercifully, the young man doesn't fall over.

"I dunno." Stiles responds with a shrug, heading towards the kitchen. Coffee, he needed coffee.

"You 'dunno'?" Derek questions, and Stiles hears the Alpha move out of bed.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the coffee machine. "Yeah, I dunno."

Suddenly two strong arms wrap around Stiles' small frame, and gently pull him back against a warm and broad chest.

Stiles can't even enjoy the feeling. He is too worried about his face burning off, or melting into a puddle on Derek's nice clean floor ...

"I know."

Stiles frowns down at his empty coffee mug, wondering if he'd pressed the wrong button - but mostly wondering what Derek was talking about. He shifts his head over slightly, trying to look at his companion in the face.

Derek smiles.

"You know what?"

"That we're dating." The Alpha answers easily, without a hint of irony.

Stiles' eyes bug out of his head, and his mouth drops open. He  _really_ had not been expecting that!

"Really?"

"Really."

Derek reaches forward then, and presses two buttons on the coffee machine that Stiles hadn't even noticed. Huh, so that's why nothing had been happening ...

With a pat on the shoulder Derek turns away, leaving Stiles flustered and smiling down at his now full cup of coffee.

They were dating?

"We need to find out who the garden belongs too." Derek says suddenly, whilst pulling on his grey v-neck t shirt. Stiles tries not pout at the fact that he was no longer going to be able to stare at Derek's toned stomach any longer ...

Stiles takes a quick drink of coffee, and stands leaning up against the kitchen counter.

"What're you thinking?"

"Whoever planted that wolfsbane knows a lot." Derek answers, before his expression morph's into a deep frown. "They know too much."

"You think that garden is meant for you?" Stiles asks, and he sincerely hopes that Derek will disagree with him.

The idea that someone had planted poison just to kill Derek and his pack ... Stiles shudders.

Derek sighs, and doesn't look too happy himself. "Maybe."

"But it's in the middle of The Reserve." Stiles argues, placing down his mug. He knew he was about to start waving his arms around, and standing with a hot drink in his hands was never a good idea. "That's hardly subtle."

"Maybe they don't need to be subtle."

Stiles sighs. "They aren't worried."

"No."

"Well, that's not good." The young man continues, with a shake of his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, and starts to think.

Whoever planted the wolfsbane was smart, and clearly knew a lot about biology, not to mention werewolves and the supernatural. Plus, they weren't hiding, because they weren't scared.

Stiles didn't like this one bit.

Suddenly Derek is standing before him, a frown still on his face. Stiles always preferred to see him smile.

"Stiles, please try and stay out of this."

Stiles is already shaking his head. "Not a chance in Hell."

Derek sighs, but he doesn't look surprised by the young mans answer. If anything, he looks like he had been expecting it. "Well, it was worth a shot." Stiles nods, pleased, before heading back to the bed to gather his jacket, and try and find where he had dropped his keys. Derek tilts his head in confusion, watching Stiles move around his apartment. "Where are you going?"

"Home." Stiles answers, and Derek smiles, hearing the annoyance in his companions voice at the fact that he had to leave. "I have some work to do for Bio, plus I need to start figuring out what's going on."

Derek nods, before moving himself.

"Do you want me -"

"No, it's okay." Stiles interrupts, before turning and holding up his keys that had been sitting on the bed side table. "You just rest up and get back to your usual Sourwolf self."

Derek growls, but this time Stiles doesn't flinch or feel nervous. He laughs.

"I hate you." Derek grumbles, and Stiles approaches him with a smile.

"No you don't." Stiles leans forward, placing a quick kiss on Derek's lips.

When he pulls back, Derek is smiling.

"No, I don't."

"I'll see you later." Stiles walks past Derek then, heading to the loft elevator. He pats his pockets as he walks, making sure that he had everything he had arrived with, especially his phone.

"Stiles?" The young man turns back towards Derek, who was frowning once again. "I know I can't convince you not to get involved, but please, be careful."

"Cross my heart, hope to die." Stiles answers immediately, before frowning. Derek already looked less than amused. "Wait, no, not -"

Derek just rolls his eyes.

* * *

Stiles spends about one hour on his Biology homework, but then over six hours on his 'research'. Even though Deaton had assured him that only some of the wolfsbane was deadly, Stiles was still feeling less than thrilled to know that it was all out there in The Preserve, uncovered and unaccounted for. He needed to find out who planted the wolfsbane, and what their plan was. Before that though, Stiles had homework; magical homework.

He didn't have claws, or arrows or a supernatural ability to fall back on (at least not yet), but Stiles could do something. Or at least, he had done something before. He needed to find out how he had been able to cast the wolfsbane circle, stop himself from healing and set fire to the lacrosse goal. Once he worked that out, he could work out to do more, he was sure of it.

The only problem was, Stiles had no idea where to start ... 

Stiles wonders if Deaton had anything to with the wolfsbane garden.

He flicks through some of his research, trying to read about moving objects with his mind, but he's distracted.

Deaton always has the answers to everything ...

He knows everything about everyone ...

He knew the Hales ...

And he's hiding something.

Stiles doesn't know how he knows that, but he knows. He trusts his instincts though, enough that now he can't stop thinking about Deaton, and how he must be involved in someway. After all, he was right about Matt. He wants t confront Deaton once and for all. He has a million questions in his head, but none of them seem to have answers.

Why do you help us?

Why did you stop being the emissary for the Hale pack, and for Beacon Hills?

Why do you still help Peter, after everything that he did?

Are you really one of the good guys?

Stiles wishes Deaton could just answer that last question. That was the killer wasn't it. Was Deaton one of the good guys, or was he just pretending to be one. He'd been around since day one, and even before then. He knew Scott before he was a werewolf. He knew the Hales years ago, before Derek was even born.

Maybe it was all a trick? Work with the werewolves, learn their weaknesses, then kill them. It would be more than easy for Deaton to do that know. And why? Well, why did Matt go crazy? Why did Jackson become the Kanima?

Sometimes, there was no easy answer to the question, why?

Stiles wasn't going to confront Deaton though, or ask him any of his burning questions. Not until he knew he would be able to overpower him. He was 50% sure that the vet wouldn't hurt him, but if Stiles knew something he shouldn't ... well, that was never going to be a good thing. Deaton is powerful, that much Stiles knows, but how powerful?

Stiles wakes to the sound of his mobile phone ringing. He blurrily pushes his notes and books away from his face, before moving his arm around on his desk, trying to find his phone. He brings the mobile to his face, and squints at the caller ID.  
Scott.

Stiles places the phone back down onto his desk with a groan, and let's the phone ring. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, not even Scott. His head was throbbing, his mind was racing into a million different directions, and his magic ... yeah, that hadn't worked.

He hadn't been able to move anything, set anything on fire (he was only trying to light a small piece of paper, but he was secretly glad he hadn't managed to set it alight. He would have never been able to explain that one to his father.) and his research hadn't come up with anything different from what Deaton had told him before.

Stiles was _something_ , but what good was being something if he couldn't do _anything_.

The phone stops ringing then, and with another groan, Stiles raises his head from his desk. He begins to sort out his desk, throwing away some of his random scrap pieces of paper, and pushing all of his books to the corner of his desk. He wanted his Dad to see Biology and Math books, not ' _Practising Occult Magic'._

Suddenly, Stiles' eyes are drawn away from his desk, and to his window. 

The plant, or more like the stick, that Deaton had given him, was blooming.

Stiles pushes himself out his chair, nearly falling over as he moves over to the window. He rests both hands on the window frame, and stares down at the small plant. There was just one small flower, but that one small flower was definitely not there a few hours ago when Stiles had been ... well, trying to do something.

With a laugh, Stiles realises he had done that. He had made that dead stick bloom.  

Stiles' phone rings once again, but he doesn't move to check who it is that is calling him. It was probably just Scott again, and Stiles suddenly had more important things to think about. Like the fact that he should probably start thinking about heading to Hogwarts. 

"Since when did you have flowers in your room?"

Stiles whips around quickly, and is greeted with the sight of a very tired looking Sheriff. He stands annoyed for a few seconds, wondering why his hearing hadn't gotten any better, when he suddenly realises how his Dad looks. 

Either the Sheriff had been rolling around in the dirt, or something had happened ...  

"Dad?"

The Sheriff sighs, and manages a small smile, clearly trying to mollify his now concerned son. "Hey, Stiles." 

"What happened to you?"

"There was a fire at the station."

"What!" Stiles exclaims, immediately moving away from the window, and over to his father. 

The Sheriff raises his hands, clearly trying to placate his son, and show that he is okay. Stiles still looks his father over, like he is half expecting to see a small smouldering patch of clothing. "It's okay, everyone was okay." The Sheriff says, and Stiles lets out a breath. 

"What happened?"

"It was in one of the record rooms. We got it contained. It was only a small fire, nothing serious."

Stiles pulls a face at that. "Every fire is serious if you're involved."

"I appreciate the concern." The man replies, with another sigh, and a small smile. 

Stiles know his father though, and know's what that small smile means. Something else was going on, and Stiles wasn't going to stand back and not ask questions. After all, he had promised Derek not to go snooping around the wolfsbane garden, and this had nothing to do with that.

Didn't it? 

"Dad? What aren't you telling me?"

The Sheriff sighs, and leans up against his sons doorway. Stiles notices then just how filthy his father was. Clearly, he had been very close to the fire. Stiles tries not to think about that too much. 

"Parrish is missing."

Stiles frowns. He had not been expecting that. "Missing?"

"He was called to an incident on the outskirts of town; was first on the scene this morning." His father explains, looking worried. "We haven't heard from him since."

"Shit."

"Language." The Sheriff chastises, but Stiles is sure his father must have said the exact same thing when he found out his deputy was missing. 

"Do you need -"

"Everything's fine Stiles. We'll handle it." The Sheriff insists, before leaning forward, and clapping his son on the shoulder. 

Stiles smiles. "Yeah, I know you will."

The Sheriff nods once quickly, before turning and heading out of his sons bedroom. Just before he leaves, he looks back over his shoulder, his face serious. "I mean it Stiles. No looking into this."

Stiles can only nod. "Okay."

"Promise me." The Sheriff persists, and Stiles doesn't roll his eyes, or sigh in annoyance.

After all, this was serious. 

"I promise."

The Sheriff smiles then, apparently reassured. "Thanks, son."

"No problem, pops." Stiles replies, with a smile of his own. "Get some sleep."

The Sheriff leaves then, leaving Stiles to stand in his room, thinking about what else was going on in Beacon Hills. He apparently had more to worry about now ...  

Parrish?

Maybe he has something to do with the garden, Stiles thinks, as he slowly closes his bedroom door behind his father. He mysteriously appeared, short circuited Stiles' house and now he's disappeared? Stiles doesn't need to use his detective skills to know that something is seriously wrong with that picture. 

Looking over at his alarm clock, Stiles sees that it is nearly 10pm. Pretty early, especially for him to head to bed. 

Stiles quickly walks over to his wardrobe, and opens it as quietly as possible. He doesn't want to disturb his father, but he also doesn't want the Sheriff knowing what he is doing. Stiles pulls out a small whiteboard, and quickly stands in it the centre of his room. He had gotten for schoolwork; to practice giving presentations and to take notes on Lacrosse. He'd never used it for that though.

Stiles picks off some remaining paper, including a small note that simply read 'Kanima?', before grabbing some pens, and getting to work.

_Wolfsbane Garden_

_Parrish_

Stiles pauses for a moment, before adding  _Me_ to the board in shaky letters. 

He stands back then, just thinking. He plays with a ball of string in his hands, wondering if he even had any connections or anything else to add.

Under Parrish, Stiles writes  _Missing?_ and connects the words  _Wolfsbane Garden_ with a small piece of string. Next, Stiles connects himself and Parrish, writing  _Related?_ underneath. Well, Parrish had nearly shocked Stiles' arm off, but the young man starts to think that it wasn't totally Parrish's fault. 

Stiles stops then, looking at what he had so far.

Then he realises, he needs more suspects. Under the words  _Wolfsbane Garden_ Stiles writes three words.

_Parrish ... Deaton ... Peter._

Parrish was obvious. He had appeared mysteriously, and disappeared mysteriously. Stiles knew something was going on with the man, and couldn't help but wonder whether that 'thing' was the garden. After so months immersed in the supernatural, Stiles starts to doubt that coincidences exist anymore. 

Deaton wasn't so obvious, but Stiles reasons that he could be involved. He knew a lot, and even though he didn't seem to have a problem with Stiles, that didn't mean he didn't have a problem with someone else. Hadn't he even said that not all the Wolfsbane was poisonous? Maybe he didn't want to poison anyone. Maybe it was about something else entirely ... 

"What are you doing?"

Stiles startles, dropping his pen onto his bedroom floor.

Derek stands next to his now open window, frowning at the whiteboard. 

Stiles huffs out a laugh, before turning and checking that his bedroom door was still shut. "Still don't know how to use a door?" The young man asks, with a raised eyebrow. 

Derek's eyes do not leave the whiteboard, or the notes on it. "Stiles..."

The young man sighs as he bends to pick up his dropped pen. He wonders if he's ever not going to be startled by the werewolf. "I'm trying to figure things about." Stiles reasons, but the Alpha still looks less than amused. In fact, he looks pissed. 

" _Deaton, Parrish, Peter_." Derek reads in a low voice, taking a few steps forward. "I don't understand."

 Stiles turns to look over at Derek, his face burning. What was there not to understand? Did Derek think ... did Derek think Stiles was getting involved where he shouldn't be?

The young man sighs, before waving a hand over towards the board.  "I'm trying to figure out who planted the Wolfsbane." Stiles explains. "Laying things out like this helps me think."

"You think Peter's involved?" Derek says, his voice harsh.

Stiles scoffs. 

"You don't?"

"Peter's not involved, Stiles."

The young man can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "You're defending him?" Stiles questions.

True, they were family, and Peter hadn't really done anything  _recently_ but he was still Peter. Stiles was only 80%, maybe 90% sure at a push, that Peter is one of the good guys. He desperately hopes that he is wrong to suspect him, for Derek's sake.

The man had so little family left ...  

"He hasn't done anything." Derek says suddenly, before crossing his arms over his broad chest. He stares at Stiles' notes for a few seconds, before turning towards his companion with an unamused expression. "And weren't you ready for him to bite you before?"

Stiles grits his teeth. "That's not fair." He protests. trying to keep his voice level. Besides, his Dad was probably asleep. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"And now you are?"

"Yes!" Stiles winces. So much for keeping his voice down. He clenches his fists, annoyed, and throws his arms in the air. "Tell me that this all doesn't make sense to you on some level. Him being involved?"

Now it's Derek's turn to sigh.

"Stiles ..."

"Deaton knows  _everything,_ too much." Stiles continues, pointing towards the man's name on the board.

Why had he never questioned that sooner? How did Deaton always know everything, and end up being in the right place and the right time?

He was turning out to be Stiles' exact opposite.  

"Yeah, like how to save Scott's life, or bandage you up." Derek argues, but his voice is calm and even.

Unlike Stiles'. The young man was starting to think talking to Derek was like talking to a brick wall. His head was probably the same density anyway ... 

"Well, Parrish is just really suspicious." Stiles continues, and Derek nods slightly, but he doesn't seem to be in complete agreement. Stiles sighs once again. "How else do you explain him suddenly turning up in Beacon Hills?"

"Coincidence?" Derek suggests.

Stiles shakes his head, and looks down at his feet. "I don't believe it that anymore."

Derek nods, but his face is still grave. He turns and looks around the room, and Stiles follows his line of vision. His unmade bed, his pile of school books, his notes about magic and werewolves ...

His bedroom looked like any typical teenagers on the outside. It was only when you looked closer that you noticed that it was anything but typical. Like the dead stick that had now bloomed into a small white flower. 

Derek frowns at it. "Wasn't that-"

"Dead. Yeah it was. Turns out Deaton was right about something."

Derek smiles sympathetically. Stiles knows exactly what Derek was saying with that smile.  _See, Deaton isn't the bad guy ..._

"And Peter?" The Alpha asks then, his smile dropping from his face instantly as he nods over to his Uncles name on Stiles' whiteboard. 

Stiles just shrugs. He only has a gut feeling to go on, and he's not really sure how Derek Hale would feel about gut feelings. "It's Peter. He's always involved."

Derek drops his arms then, and walks over to stand directly next to Stiles. It's half comforting as the Alpha leans into Stiles' space, but it's also slightly unnerving, like Derek was trying to be imposing.

Trying to be an Alpha. 

"Stiles, this isn't a game." Derek says quietly. 

"I don't think it's a game." Stiles replies, just as quietly. He lowers his head slightly, trying to avoid Derek's penetrating gaze.

Derek sighs once again, but this time the Alpha doesn't sound annoyed, or exasperated. He just sounds really, really tired. 

"Stiles ..." Stiles looks up at Derek then, his heart in his throat. "Please,  _please,_ keep your promise to me and your Dad. Don't get involved."

Stiles huffs, but nods his head in agreement. Derek seems pleased. He raises his arms, and Stiles automatically moves into them.

Hugging Derek Hale was new, but Stiles wasn't complaining. The Alpha was warm, and Stiles felt safe, cherished even, in the man's arms. Suddenly, as the young man leans away, he realises what Derek had said. 

Promise he had made to his Dad?

Stiles frowns. "Were you listening just now?"

Derek at least has the decency to look ashamed. He bows his head slightly, but the guilt in his face doesn't mollify Stiles. "Yes, I was listening."

"Privacy? Mean anything to you?"

"Stiles..."

"What? I'm sorry was that rude?"

"You're upset."

"Oh, now look who's the smart one." Stiles retorts, his voice rising slightly. Derek still looks guilty, and Stiles struggles to keep up his angry expression. After a while, he merely sighs, defeated. "I'm just trying to help."

Derek nods, and moves forward like he wanted to be back near Stiles. Back in his embrace. "You can help by staying safe." 

"That's what Scott said." Stiles replies quietly, the name feeling strange for a while. He hadn't spoken about Scott in a while. "He wanted to keep me out of all this, because he wanted me safe."

"Well, so do I, and so does your Dad."

"I can't just sit back and do nothing!" Stiles protests, once again forgetting, or not caring, to keep his voice low.

Well, Derek was fast enough. He could get out of the room, and the house, before his Dad would have time to load his gun. Or at least, that's what Stiles hoped. 

"Stiles, please can you just stay out of this for once, it's dangerous." Derek says, with his typical grumpy expression.

"I can protect myself." Stiles argues, trying all the while not to smirk at Derek's face. 

"How can you protect yourself if you don't even know what you're protecting yourself from?" Derek argues in response, and this time, Stiles has not smart reply to that. "You're going about this all wrong Stiles. This might not just be about the Garden. This could be really serious." 

"I'll be fine."

"For god's sake, Stiles. Please just listen to me." Derek exclaims, his voice raising to a loud whisper, and his eyes burning into Stiles' eyes. "This isn't a game, and this isn't something you can just walk away from. If someone is trying to hurt the pack, or me, or Deaton -" Stiles rolls his eyes, and Derek growls. "You're acting like a child."

Stiles immediately turns to glare at Derek, all of his amusement forgotten. The Alpha looks shocked, like even he couldn't believe the words that had just fallen from his mouth. 

"No wait, I didn't -"

"You didn't think I was a child when you had your tongue down my throat." Stiles hisses.

The young man pushes past Derek, and stands next to his bedroom window. He opens it roughly, nearly knocking over his now blooming plant. 

"Stiles..."

"I want to sleep."

Derek looks hurt at that, as if Stiles had just told the man that he hated him, or that he never wanted to see him again. He doesn't argue though, or say a word. He just nods, before heading to the window. He doesn't kiss, hug, or even touch Stiles as he passes. Instead he merely jumps out of the window, and Stiles hears a small thud when the Alpha lands on the grass below. 

He doesn't look down, even though he knows Derek is looking up at him. He closes the window with a slam, forgetting, or not caring enough in that moment to be quiet. He turns back to his whiteboard, and curses at it. 

The young man moves over to it quickly, trying to ignore the burning in his throat, or the hotness behind his eyes. Stiles wipes everything off the board in a few erratic motions, pulling off the string with one hand as the other viciously rubs off the writing. 

Derek was right, he was going about this all wrong. This wasn't about the garden, or even Parrish. 

Something bigger is going on in Beacon Hills .... 

Stile uncaps his pen once again, struggling to see through his blurred vision. He quickly runs a hand over his eyes, rubbing away the hot tears, before raising his pen, and writing once again. It's two simple words, but it makes sense, and Stiles is already sure he is on the right track.

The young man writes _Hunters?_ on the left hand side of the board. 

The young man writes _Werewolves?_ on the right side of the board.

There, Stiles thinks as he stands back and looks at the board. The lines have been drawn, but suddenly Stiles doesn't know where he stands.


	24. Chapter 24

**Sunday 24th April**

It was a miserable day in Beacon Hills. It was freezing cold, and raining, and Stiles was walking to the Beacon Hills animal clinic with a small plant cradled in his shaking arms.

He had a lot of questions for Deaton.

He'd spent the entire night thinking about what he was supposed to say; what he was supposed to ask. Should he just come and say it? Should he try and be subtle, and get the man to answer his questions without him actually saying anything? He's sure that's what his Dad would do. Let him confess naturally, don't push him to say something that he might not mean.

Stiles was starting to worry he was the one thinking like a criminal. 

The bell above the door chimes happily when Stiles walks into the clinic. The waiting room is completely empty, but Stiles can hear hushed voices coming from the back room. Clearly, Deaton was not alone. He'd have to wait.

Stiles sinks down into one the small plastic chairs, and places his plant on the chair next to him. It was still blooming, and looked even better than it had yesterday. He still wonders how he had managed to do it. He hadn't even been thinking about the plant.

It had just happened ... organically.

Just as Stiles huffs out a laugh at his little joke, the door to the back room opens, and a man emerges carrying a small white dog. It doesn't look happy.

"Thanks Deaton. We'll be back next week."

"Of course. Have a safe journey home."

The man nods a farewell, before turning and heading out of the clinic. He spots Stiles and his plant in the waiting room, and frowns.

Stiles smiles, before nodding over to his plant. "Stick insect. It's looking a bit ... thin?"

The man just leaves without another word, and Deaton shakes his head, un-amused. Suddenly, the man seems to actually notice the plant, and his eyes widen in shock. Stiles smiles.

"It's alive ..."

"Okay, calm down Frankenstein." Stiles mumbles, moving to pick up the plant from the chair he had placed it on, and walking over to Deaton. "I don't really know what happened, or if it was even me."

"It was you, Stiles." Deaton replies cryptically. 

The older man inclines his head towards his office, and Stiles follows in silence. He listens to the rain pounding on the roof and windows, and swears he hears a crack of thunder as he sits down. He places the plant in front of him on Deaton's desk, and pushes it away from himself. 

"I was researching," The young man explains, trying not to be distracted by the weather. "and I checked the plant after wards, and ... this happened."

Deaton frowns. "You weren't thinking about it?"

"Nope." Stiles replies, with a small shake of the head. "I was actually thinking about - erm, something else."

"Someone else?" Deaton questions.

Was Stiles that obvious? The young man huffs out a laugh. "I'm always thinking about the pack. I can't help it, considering they always seem to manage to get into trouble."

"I actually haven't heard of them having any troubles recently. Well, except from the wolfsbane garden effecting Erica and Isaac." Deaton adds, and Stiles nods. 

He slowly reaches forward, and brushes the petals of the flower with one pale hand. It was a beautiful flower, but Stiles hadn't been able to figure out what it was. 

"It's 'Nemophila menziesii" Deaton says suddenly, strangely answering Stiles' unspoken question. "Also known as 'Baby Blue Eyes'."

"It's pretty." Stiles replies, because honestly it was. "Where is it from?"

"It's a wildflower." The older man explains, watching as Stiles plays with the small white flower. "It grows pretty much anywhere. But this one -" Deaton stops suddenly then, and Stiles frowns. When the man continues, his voice is quieter. "It was a gift."

Stiles nods, before he frowns. "Baby blue eyes?" The young man questions. "It's white."

Deaton smiles. "Usually the flowers are blue. This one is a rare exception."

"Huh." Stiles looks back down at the flower, before leaning back into his chair. "Is it just a flower?"

Deaton seems to immediately understand what Stiles was trying to ask. He shrugs once quickly. "It doesn't have any medicinal uses, nor is it edible." He smiles down at the plant then, and it is almost sad. "It's mainly used for it's appearance. It blooms once a year in the hotter weather, then dies."

"Wow." Stiles says, looking back at the plant. "That's kinda sad."

Deaton shrugs once again. "Nothing lasts forever."

The two men sit in silence then for a few minutes. Stiles listens to the rain, and Deaton just sits and looks out of the window. Stiles realises that he is comfortable, happy even, and wonders if he maybe had been wrong about Deaton. The man didn't feel ... off? In fact, Stiles was starting to actually understand the man.

With a sigh, Stiles leans forward in his small chair, and Deaton looks over towards him. "I have some questions."

Deaton raises an eyebrow. "About the plant?"

"No. Well ... no." Stiles answers dumbly, and he mentally kicks himself. So much for being cool. "About some other things. About me."

Deaton nods, and leans forward in his own chair. "Go on, Stiles."

The young man pauses, wishing for a moment that he could stop his mind from racing. He was hyper - active, his brain always went 100 miles an hour, and he could never sit still. All that didn't really help in this situation. Stiles knew that this was serious. Deadly serious.

"Why do you help us? Any of us?" Stiles asks. "I know you're not the Emissary. Derek would have told me."

Deaton sighs. "He's right, I'm not the Emissary. Not anymore."

"Anymore?"

Deaton looks pained for a moment, like he didn't want to answer this question. Stiles just waits in silence, occasionally glancing down towards the plant that still sat on the table. After a few moments, Deaton speaks again.

"I was the Emissary to the Hale pack." The man explains, "But that doesn't make me the Emissary to this pack; Scott and Derek's."

"Why not?"

The older man smiles once then, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes. "It's complicated, and it's not automatic."

"When did you stop becoming the Emissary."

"After the fire."

Stiles pauses then, unsure if he should carry on with this specific topic. Deaton though, doesn't seem to want to stop talking. Stiles takes a quick breath, before he continues. "So, after Talia and the pack died -"

"Were killed." Deaton interrupts.

Stiles gulps. "Sorry. After the pack were killed, you stopped being the Emissary."

Deaton nods. "Talia was my Alpha, and so when she ..." The man trails off then, frowning. "Laura and Derek left Beacon Hills so soon after. They didn't want me as an Emissary, or want to start a new pack."

Stiles frowns. "What did they want?"

"To be left alone. To have time to grieve." The man leans back in his chair, and Stiles thinks that he suddenly looks exhausted. "I should have been Laura's Emissary, for her pack."

"Two people could be a pack?" Stiles questions, confused for a moment. "Just Derek and Laura?"

"Of course."

"Huh."

Deaton turns away from Stiles then, and gazes out of the window. Rain still pounds against the glass, and another crack of thunder sounds in the distance. It's an eerie sound. 

"I was supposed to be in that house." Deaton says suddenly, still not looking at the young man sat opposite him. "I was supposed to be in the fire." Stiles' mouth falls open, but he manages not to say anything. He just sits, watching and listening. Deaton sighs once again, and finally turns away from the window. When he looks back towards Stiles, his eyes were shining.

This is it, Stiles think. Here come the answers ...

"My sister and I moved to Beacon Hills twenty years ago." Deaton begins. "I was already an Emissary, but didn't have a pack. So, when we arrived, Talia sought us out. I became the Emissary, and my sister ... well, she got a job elsewhere. She had always rejected the supernatural, and anything to do with it. She just wanted a normal life."

"I can relate." Stiles answers quietly, and Deaton smiles a small smile. 

"So, while I joined the Hale pack, she studied."

"Studied what?"

Deaton shrugs. "Biology, Chemistry ..."

"She was just a normal student." Stiles says, and the man nods. 

"As normal as someone like me can be."

Stiles nods himself then, and leans back further into his seat. He could tell this was going to be a long conversation. "Go on ..."

"I had an apprentice, a young girl." Deaton continues, and Stiles winces. He was hoping this wasn't going to go the way he thought it was going. "She was a lot like you actually. Erratic, full of energy -"

"You can say it you know." Stiles interjects, with a raised eyebrow.

Deaton smirks. "Different."

"Huh, I was thinking 'weird' or 'quirky'." Stiles replies, and Deaton huffs out a small laugh at that. 

"Quirky would describe her very well actually."

"What happened to her?"

Deaton takes a small breath, and Stiles winces once again. He was starting to regret starting the conversation. "I was out of town. Derek's mother, Talia, asked me to go and speak to another pack. I was angry." The man stops for a moment, and sighs. "I didn't want to spend my entire life running around for a pack of werewolves. I wanted to have my own life. But I did it, I left, and told Talia that this was going to be the last time. I was done being the Emissary."

"How'd she take it?"

"She smiled." Deaton answers, but he frowns, like he still couldn't understand the reaction. "She told me that she understood, but she made me promise that I would take of her children, no matter what happened."

"She sounds like a good Mom."

Deaton nods, but his expression doesn't change. He looks ... haunted. "Three days later, the fire-" The man stops, and Stiles just sits, waiting. "They died." 

"Shit."

"Eight people died in that fire, Stiles. Including my apprentice." Deaton's horror turns to anger then, as he scowls, and Stiles knows that the anger is not directed at him. "She was just a kid."

"Was she, like you?"

Deaton nods quickly in agreement. "She was a druid."

"What about your sister?"

"Is she like me?" Stiles nods. "Not, not really. She never practised, or looked into her abilities. Even less so after the fire. Marin was ... distraught. Heartbroken." Stiles frowns then, as Deaton continues to speak. "She was very close with Laura."

"Laura Hale? Derek's big sister?"

The older man nods. "Marin didn't want to be an emissary, but she still spent a lot of time around the Hales." Deaton huffs out a laugh then. "Some may say too much time. She and Laura were inseparable."

Stiles smiles himself, pleased to see the man's mood lift. "They sound like a cool family. Like a cool pack."

Deaton sighs, but it isn't a sad sound this time. It sounds almost contented. "I'd never encountered anything like that pack, and I don't think I ever will. There were werewolves, humans and Druids in that pack, and they were all family, even though they weren't related."

"Do you think ..." Stiles trails off, and Deaton inclines his head, inviting him to continue. "I'm trying to understand, what it would have been like for Derek and Laura. And Peter." Stiles adds as an afterthought. Even after all the time he had spent around Peter, the young man had still really been able to understand him.

Deaton leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk, careful not to disturb the plant. 

"Laura and Derek had there own pack, with Laura being the Alpha, and Derek being the Beta. It would have been hard." The man pauses, and exhales. Stiles just waits. He wonders then if this is the longest he'd ever managed to sit still whilst listening to someone speak. Usually, the young man would have been skipping around the room by now, or at least tapping out an annoying rhythm on the table. 

"So, they were the new pack?"

"They were  _a_ new pack." Deaton corrects. "There pack was different; a separate entity. Peter was part of it to, but only when Laura came back to Beacon Hills."

Stiles frowns. "So, when Laura came back, that's when Peter woke up?"

Deaton nods, and he also smiles slightly, almost as if he was impressed. "Peter's Alpha returning triggered something. That's probably what caused him to wake up. Then, knowing that Laura was the Alpha -"

"He killed her, to become the Alpha, so he could kill Kate." Stiles finishes. He knows his bit. He was there after all.

"Exactly." Deaton replies. 

"How can Derek forgive him? Or you? You knew Laura."

Deaton closes his eyes then, looking pained. Stiles wonders if he had stepped over a line, but he doesn't back track, or take it back. He had to know.

"Peter ... he wasn't in his right mind." Deaton begins. "I knew him before the fire. He was a good man." Stiles wishes he could believe that. He doesn't argue though, just letting Deaton continues. "Werewolf dynamics, the pack - it's all very complicated."

"You can say that again ..."

"Peter is pack." Deaton answers, and Stiles sighs. 

 _Oh._ "So, even if Derek is still angry -"

"He's an werewolf, and an Alpha. That is who he is. Before he's Peter's nephew, or the brother to the woman he killed. He is always going to be Peter's Alpha, and that's what's connecting them. That's what's allowing Derek to forgive him."

Stiles sighs dramatically, throwing himself back into his chair. He hadn't even realised he had moved so far forward ...

"So, being 'pack' it's like ..." Stiles trails off then, before frowning to himself. This shit really was complicated. "It's like everything."

"Yes." Deaton answers instantly. "Pack is everything to a werewolf."

Stiles can't help but smirk. "What about an Emissary? Or a Banshee?"

Deaton smiles once quickly, clearly amused. "It's the same, and it would be for anyone in a pack."

"Even a human?"

Stiles isn't looking at Deaton, but he can hear him shift, as if he were trying to get more comfortable. The man lets out another sigh, and Stiles chances a look in the man's direction.

"Humans can be pack if they're blood relatives, mates or -"

The man stops dead then mid speech, and Stiles frowns, before motioning with his hand. " _Or ..."_

"An Emissary." Deaton answers, before smiling. 

Stiles frowns. He looks at Deaton's smiling face, then back down to the blooming plant on the table, then back to Deaton. 

Oh, hell no. 

"I can't be an Emissary!" Stiles exclaims, shooting up from his positioning slouched on the chair.

Deaton just tilts his head. "Why not?" The man asks calmly.

Stiles scoffs. "Because - I - I'm not -"

"Beacon Hills needs an Emissary, Stiles. Who better than you?"

"You." Stiles retorts immediately, but Deaton is already shaking his head. 

"I think we both know that my time as Emissary has passed. You're young, you're powerful," The man quickly nods down towards the plant, and Stiles rolls his eyes. "and you know the pack. More than that, you love the pack."

Stiles opens his mouth, and then closes it again. When he speaks, his voice is smaller. "What does this mean? What am I supposed to do?"

"Speak to them." Deaton answers, before moving to stand up from the table. "Show them what you can do." 

"Why should -" 

Deaton doesn't even let Stiles finish. He raises a hand, halting the man mid speech. "Don't do it for them, or Derek," Stiles glares for a moment at the fact that Deaton had felt the need to put Derek separate in that list. "Do it for you Stiles." 

Stiles sighs, as he follows Deaton's lead, and stands. "Weren't you telling me a few days ago to stay out of this? You were worried. You told me to stay away from werewolves."

Deaton just smirks. "I think we both know that's impossible for you." Stiles looks apologetic. "You're going to be involved, so you need to be prepared. You need to know what you can do."

"You're going to train me?"

"If you want to call it that, then yes, Stiles. I'll train you."

Stiles smiles, but then frowns. "You wanted me to stay out of things though. What's changed?" 

Deaton smiles once himself then, but his eyes look sad. "I stayed out of things in the past. People got killed."

Stiles gulps. "So, being an Emissary, fun job?"

Deaton laughs brightly, before moving around the table, and giving Stiles a clap on the shoulder. "You'll be brilliant Stiles." He face grows serious then, and he adds, "You'll keep them safe."

The older man bends down to pick up Stiles' plant, but the young man stops him with a wave of his hand. "Keep it."

Deaton doesn't protest, instead he looks grateful. He nods his head. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Stiles replies, just as he walks through the door to the office, and begins to leave the clinic.

"Stiles!"

The young man turns, frowning towards back Deaton. "Yeah?"

"I'll be here if you need me. You or the pack."

Stiles smiles, and inclines his head. "I'm counting on it."  


	25. Chapter 25

**Monday 25th April**

Stiles actually gulps when he spots Scott across the busy school corridor. The young man wasn't doing anything in particular, just going through his locker and frowning to himself as he looked through his school books. For Stiles though, his friend may as well have been half shifted, and growling at him with glowing red eyes. Seeing Scott just standing there, and knowing Stiles was going to have to talk to him, was intimidating him just as much.

This was it.

He had spent the entire night acting out the conversation he was about to have, in his head. It was supposed to be simple; easy even. It had always been easy for Scott and Stiles to talk. Stiles was going to go over, say hi, tell Scott they needed to have a pack meeting. Then Scott was going to agree, and that would be that, they could go to class without having to suffer through an awkward encounter.

No such luck though.

As soon as Stiles starts to approach Scott, the werewolves eyes widen, and he actually looks ... well, thrilled.

"Hey man!" Scott greets animatedly, before closing the door to his locker. "You okay?" Stiles pauses, and Scott frowns. Jeez, werewolves really did pick up on everything. "Oh god, you're not okay." Scott exclaims, his happy expression melting away. "What is it? Is it your Dad? Are you -"

"Scott, take a breath. I'm fine." Stiles assures his friend, before realising that wasn't technically true. "Well, I'm mostly fine." The young man corrects, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Scott frown grows even deeper then. "You smell worried."

"Okay firstly," Stiles begins, raising a finger. "smelling me is weird. Period. Please don't. And secondly, I run with werewolves!" Stiles' voice gets somewhat hysterical towards the end then, but he still manages to keep his voice down. Take note the rest of the pack, the young man thinks to himself, who still loudly discussed supernatural related things in the school cafeteria. "When am I not worried?"

"Fair point." Scott concedes with a nod of his head, his voice dropping to his usual low timbre. "So, what's up?"

"Pack meeting tonight." Stiles sighs at himself then. He hadn't meant for that to sound like a command. He had been aiming for a polite civil conversation. So much for the practice conversations helping him out. "I mean, can you get the pack together? For a meeting. Tonight?"

Scott is already nodding. "Sure, that sounds fine. Everyone?"

Stiles doesn't need to ask what Scott meant by that. "Yeah, even Peter."

"Okay, cool."

Stiles nods as well then, and the two young men just stand together in the corridor nodding to themselves.

It must have been a weird sight.

"So, is that it?" Scott asks after a moment of semi-awkward silence.

Stiles stops his erratic nodding then, and frowns once again. Why did Scott sound so accusatory all of a sudden? Like he was asking Stiles if he'd robbed a bank recently?

He hadn't, just for the record. 

"Yep, that's it." Stiles replies, popping the 'p' as he speaks. Nervous habit.

"We haven't spoken in a while."

Uh, oh. Here it comes. The dreaded argument ...

"Yeah, we haven't." Stiles says, trying to keep his voice low and even.

"Isaac says you're still working together on your project for Chemistry, which is cool, and Derek-"

"Derek what?" Stiles interrupts, cutting off Scott mid speech, his eyes growing impossibly wide. "What did Derek say?"

Scott looks flabbergasted. "That ... you were ... okay." The man says slowly, obvious questioning his friends sudden panic.

Stiles lets out a breath. "Oh, cool. Yeah, I'm okay."

"Why, what else would Derek say?"

Scott raises an eyebrow, mockingly. Stiles glares.

"Nothing. He wouldn't have anything else to say. Nothing whatsoever."

"Really?" Scott continues, smirking slightly. "Because you seem -"

"Nothing, Scott."

Stiles voice grows harsh then, and Scott's face falls. "Okay. Fine. So, pack meeting tonight, at Derek's?"

Stiles sighs. He hadn't actually thought about the fact they would have to have the meeting at Derek's loft. The two men hadn't spoken since their argument, and Stiles was still unsure what he was supposed to say. After all, he had been the one to kick Derek out. At any other time, Stiles would have been proud of that, but now ... Stiles was starting to doubt himself, and that was never a good thing.  

"Yeah, that's great, see you later."

Stiles walks away, adjusting his backpack as it slowly rolled down his shoulder. This was it, he was going to have to tell everyone everything. But how? 

Isaac and Jackson pass Stiles in the corridor, and neither of them look over. This time however Stiles doesn't mind. He would be seeing them later anyway, and he's sure they'll have plenty to say to him then. 

* * *

Stiles parks outside the loft exactly one hour before he was supposed to meet everyone. He huffs out a laugh to himself when he eyes the time on his cars clock. There was being prompt, and then there was whatever the hell he was going. 

Stiles sighs, and leans back into his seat, frowning. 

He was nervous, there was no doubt about that, but there was something else keeping him glued inside his Jeep, afraid to get out. With a sudden realisation, Stiles realises that he is actually scared. Not so much about seeing everyone, and talking to them, but about what was inevitably going to happen after that.

What if he couldn't do it? What if he couldn't do anything at all? 

That would be just his luck.

 _Hey guys, look what I can do,_ Stiles thinks to himself, glaring out of his Jeep window.  _Oh wait, that's right, I can't do anything._

Stiles had been daydreaming at school about the meeting, and had been thinking up millions of possible scenarios. One of his most popular theories was that someone was going to eat him. His money was on Jackson. Ironically, he seemed to be the one who freaked out the most around supernatural things. Then his other theory was that everyone was going to laugh at him. Stiles thinks that is less of a theory after all, and more of a probability. Of course they were going to laugh at him; he was Stiles.

"Stiles?"

Stiles doesn't scream. Nope, he doesn't. He squeals.

"Jesus, Peter! You scared the crap out of me." Stiles reaches over, and opens the door of his Jeep, Peter moving back from where he had been stood to let Stiles out. 

"I could hear you from upstairs." Peter drawls, sounding anything but concerned. "How long were you going to nap out here?"

Stiles slams the door to the Jeep a little bit harder than necessary. He would worry about that later. "I was thinking." 

"That usually gets you into trouble." Peter replies with a smirk. 

Stiles can't even argue with that. 

* * *

"What is this about, Stilinski?"

Of course, Jackson would be the one to speak first. 

Stiles quickly looks around at everyone, taking in the mixed expressions. Allison and Lydia looked curious, as if they were watching some sort of lesson at the high school. Scott looked worried, but then again, Stiles was struggling to think of a time when his friend hadn't looked worried when Stiles had stood up in front of everyone with something to say. 

Usually, that meant something bad was going on. 

"Yeah Stiles, what's going on?" Isaac asks then, before crossing his arms over his broad chest. He didn't look worried, Stiles notes, but more ... annoyed.

Oh shit, the 'being eaten by a werewolf' scenario was starting to look more likely ... 

"You dragged us all here to say something, so ... say something."

Lydia quickly bats Jackson on the arm after that, and Stiles starts to remember why he had fallen in love with her in the first place. 

Badass.

"Well ..." Stiles starts, and he swears half the people in the room lean forward slightly. 

Peter on the other hand, sighs and looks heavenward. Derek glares at him. 

"Go on." Allison prompts, still intensely peering at Stiles as if he was holding a lecture about a fascinating subject. 

Maybe he was.

Stiles can't really be sure why, or even when he looks over to Derek, but the Alpha keeps his gaze. He doesn't frown, or smirk, or even look away. He just keeps his eyes on Stiles', before giving the smallest of nods.

Okay, here it goes ...

"I have powers." Stiles blurts. Peter rolls his eyes.

"One chance to say it, and he went with that." The older man mumbles under his breath to his Nephew. Derek just growls in response. 

Stiles had been so engrossed with glaring at Peter, and trying to portray 'hey, thanks for the support!' with his brooding expression, that for a minute he forgot that everyone else was in the room.

And staring at him, intensely. 

"What?" Scott asks, before shaking his head, almost as if he were trying to clear it. 

Stiles sighs once again. "I can do stuff. Nothing like you guys!" He quickly adds, waving over to some of the werewolves, "but I can do stuff."

Erica, who had remained oddly silent from her spot next to Boyd, suddenly scoffs, and shakes her head. "No way."

Stiles is about to move to defend himself, when Jackson suddenly stands up from his spot on the sofa. Stiles doesn't miss the way that Derek tenses at that. The young man doesn't try to eat Stiles however (thank God) but instead, moves to collect his backpack from where it had been thrown down by the door.

He reaches in, grabs a blunt pencil, before moving back and all but throwing it down on the coffee table.

Stiles winces. 

"Move this." Jackson demands, standing over the table and his pencil with a menacing expression. 

"Jackson -" Lydia sighs, and looks as if she is about to stand up next to him. Allison stops her with a hand on her shoulder. 

Wise Allison, Stiles thinks to himself. 

"No, c'mon Stilinski." Jackson growls, his upper lip rising slightly. It takes a lot of willpower on Stiles behalf not to make an inappropriate dog joke. That surely wouldn't have helped. "If you're so 'powerful' then move the friggin' pencil."

"That's enough." A deep voice growls, and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

"Now?" Stiles grumbles to Derek as the Alpha starts to move forward. "You help me out now?"

Before Derek can say another word, seven sets of eyes turn to look at him. Oops.

"You knew about this?!" Scott exclaims, and his eyes flash a deep red for a split second.

Oh shit, not good. 

Stiles very slowly and carefully, takes a step backwards. Sure he could do 'stuff' now, but that stuff didn't include growing back a limb if he got caught in the middle of a werewolf rumble. 

"Yes, I knew." Derek replies calmly. "He was in the reserve and -"

"You didn't think to tell me ..."

"So that's why he's been ..."

"What the hell is ..."

All the words come at once, from everyone at once. Erica scoffs and laughs at every suggestion that Stiles could be anything other that a breakable human. Scott glares and growls at Derek, who Stiles can tell his trying very hard to remain calm. Lydia has her arm on Jackson's shoulder, mumbling about sitting down, but the man refuses. He snaps at Isaac when he makes a joke, and Boyd jumps in to defend his friend ... it's chaos.

In all the madness, Stiles locks eyes with Peter. The werewolf was still stood back from the group, watching everyone with an amused expression. On seeing Stiles looking at him though, the man stops smirking. Instead his gaze falls to the pencil, still sitting neglected on the coffee table, and then back up to Stiles.

Oh, a challenge.

Stiles moves a little closer to the table, trying to drown out the yelling, growling and cursing. 

He can feel Peter looking at him, but he ignores that to.

_Please, anyone who may be listening, don't let me embarrass myself in front of everyone. Please let this work._

The pencil twitches, although it was blown quickly by someone nearby. But no one was nearby, it was Stiles.

"Twitching is not good enough ..." Stiles murmurs quietly under his breath. He can still hear the voices of the pack around him, but he drowns in out. 

Concentrate, concentrate. 

"Concentrate." Peter drawls, and that draws the attention of the rest of the pack. 

They freeze, watching.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Stiles snaps, before looking back down at the pencil. 

Stupid, obnoxiously yellow, wooden -

Wait,  _wooden._ It was natural, it was nature, and Stiles could work with that. 

Stiles seemed to have a good connection to that kind of thing. 

As he silently thanks Jackson for not throwing down a pen onto the table, Stiles closes his eyes, and this time he really does manage to concentrate. 

Slowly cracking open his eyes, Stiles nearly laughs. 

Not because the pencil was perfectly hovering at his eye level, as if it were patiently waiting for further instructions, but because every single member of the pack looked genuinely shocked.

Stiles smiles, and crosses his arms over his chest, the pencil still hovering.  

"No please, continue." The young man says, with a wave of his hand. "Keep arguing. The wolfsbane garden and impending doom can wait."

"How? How?" 

Stiles wishes he had a camera to take a picture of Jackson's face. He knew he would be the one to freak out the most. What he hadn't anticipated, was the smile on Scott's face. 

"That's amazing!" Scott exclaims, moving forward to get a closer look. "How are you doing that?"

The young werewolf waves a hand around the pencil, as if he were looking for strings. Stiles is too happy with himself to even bother being offended about that. 

Stiles shrugs, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Moving things is new. But I've been practising with Deaton. He thinks I could be the new Emissary."

Derek's head shoots to look at Stiles from were he had been staring at the pencil. "What?" The Alpha growls, but Stiles doesn't really hear him. 

"It's nothing major." Stiles continues, as Lydia and Jackson move to stand next to Scott, and the pencil. "I can -"

"Set the Lacrosse goal on fire ..." Peter drawls, and Stiles doesn't even have time to tell him to shut up before the rest of the pack exclaim their surprise. 

"What! That was you?" Erica nearly screams, but Stiles is pleased to see she no longer looks like she wants to rip his throat out.

Small victories. 

"You didn't tell me that." Derek's voice is quiet, but the whole room hears him. 

Stiles freezes. That didn't sound good. 

"What?"

"You didn't say anything about being the new Emissary." Derek continues, his voice still worryingly quiet and controlled.

Stiles quickly looks to Peter, for support or answers, he's not sure. The man's trademark smirk had fallen from his face, replaced with concern.

Uh oh.  

"Wait, why would Stiles tell you before me?" Scott asks then, finally tearing his eyes away from the flying stationary. 

"Because we're dating."

Derek says it so easily, and so calmly, that Stiles wonders for a moment whether he had just imagined it. He quickly realises Derek had indeed just said what he thought he had said, when Scott's eyes bulge, Lydia and Boyd gasp, and Isaac ... well Isaac looks exactly like he does when Harris asks him an impossible Chemistry question. 

Stunned. 

"What?!" That was Erica, her gaze flying between Derek and Stiles rapidly. 

"Are you serious?" Jackson asks then, oddly calmly. 

Stiles grits his teeth, and looks at Derek so intensely that he doesn't seem to notice that the pencil had begun to spin. 

"Not. Cool." 

"Are you ashamed of me?" Derek asks, his voice cold. "Is that what this is?"

"What? No!"

"Gentlemen, I think this is a conversation best done in private." Peter interrupts, before quickly nodding over to the rest of the young pack.

Stiles swears he sees Scott's eye twitch. 

"No need. I'm leaving."

"Wait, Derek!"

The Alpha storms over to the elevator, and slams the sliding door with much more force than necessary. The drinks on the coffee table shake and shudder, and a set of keys that had been placed on the kitchen counter rattle and fall to the floor. 

The pencil still spins. 

"Well, that went well."

Stiles doesn't pay attention to the concerned looks or protestations. He merely marches over to the elevator. "Shut the hell up, Jackson." The young man growls. 

The pencil finally stops spinning, and instead, rapidly flies over towards the large glass windows. Just as Stiles closes the sliding door, he sees the small yellow object crash through the glass, sending shards flying all over the floor.  

"Well, who has a broom?" The eldest werewolf asks the stunned room. "Lydia?"

"I'm a banshee, not a witch."

Stiles doesn't bother to tell Peter to shut up, or stop to worry about the window and the fact that he could have probably just maimed someone. He just presses the elevator button, and goes to find Derek. 

* * *

Derek is outside, leaning against his Camaro. The man doesn't move when Stiles approaches, even though he is surely aware that the young man is stood right behind him. Stiles sighs, preparing himself to speak, but before he can work up the courage to say anything, Derek turns.  

"What's your name?"

Well, Stiles hadn't been expecting that. 

"What?" 

"Don't you think it's strange? That I don't even know your real name?"

"No one does." Stiles argues, trying not to sound too defensive, but Derek just rolls his eyes. 

"Scott does."

Stiles really couldn't argue with that. He thinks for a moment that maybe explaining how that had happened would help. How it was really his Mom that had told Scott and not him, but he stops himself before he goes into that story. 

"C'mon man, don't be like this." Stiles all but pleads, but Derek doesn't appear to look any happier, or less frustrated. 

Derek blows out a breath. "Like what?"

"I get it, okay. I should have told you about the Emissary thing."

"And yet you didn't."

"Because I know you!" Stiles exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I know how you'd be, with your broody face and -"

"Stiles." Derek interrupts, cutting his companion off. "I'm worried."

Stiles frowns then, "About what?"

"You."

"Me?" The young man questions, dumbly. 

"The pack, the garden ... about everything." Derek sighs, before pushing himself up off the side of his car, and walking towards Stiles. "I don't like this."

"I don't like it either."

Derek pauses for a moment then, just looking at Stiles with an expression that he couldn't decipher.

There relationship, or whatever it was that they were, was new to Stiles. He didn't even know what he should call Derek, let alone what he was thinking about most of the time. That shocked him more than anything else. Did he even really know Derek? 

Sure, he knew about his past. He probably knew more than the pack did, with the exception of Peter. But that was because of Deaton, and his incessant curiosity that bordered on obsession. 

Was Derek ever going to tell Stiles about himself? 

"You should stay out of this." The Alpha says then, and Stiles just sighs. 

"I know."

Stiles huffs out a laugh at Derek's shocked expression. Clearly, the Alpha had been expecting a very different response. 

"Don't look so surprised, I can be reasonable."

"You'll stay out of it?" Derek asks, his eyes showing a trace of happiness. 

"Well, I'm not going to be wandering around the woods on my own, if that's what you mean."

"Kind of." 

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about the Emissary thing, but ..."

"But?"

Stiles pulls a face. He really needed to start thinking about what he was saying in front of Derek. The man wasn't like Scott, who would just let his friend rant and babble, without ever really asking too many questions. Don't get him wrong, Scott cared, but he also understood that what seemed like 90% of what Stiles said was complete nonsense, or random thoughts and feelings. Derek though, needed to know what was going on in his head, and it seemed that he couldn't gleam that from Stiles' random stream of consciousness.

Go figure.  

"I don't know what I was going to say." Stiles admits. "I don't have any excuses."

"I don't want excuses, Stiles." Derek answers, and it sounds more like an apology than a scolding. "None of us do."

"Then what do you want?"

"Stiles back." The young man frowns at that, and Derek rolls his eyes once again. " _Our_ Stiles."

"I'm right here."

"No, our Stiles would be smiling right now and demanding fist pumps. After all, he scared Jackson."

That does make Stiles smile. "Yeah I did."

"There he is." Derek all but sighs, a smile on his own face now. "My Stiles."

"Should I comment on the fact you just said I was yours?"

Derek raises an eyebrow, and Stiles tries not to look at it too intensively. That did things to him. 

"Are you not?"

"Hell no! I'm -" Stiles' expression falls into a pout then, seeing how his companion was smirking. "You're messing with me. Stop laughing."

"Sorry." Derek answers immediately, although he still had a smile on his face. 

Stiles smiles himself then, and takes a few slow steps forward towards the Alpha. 

"You know, they're probably all spying on us right now." Derek drawls, but he has a smirk on his face, and doesn't move to stop Stiles from getting closer. 

"You want to stop?" Stiles asks, as innocently as possibly. 

"Hell no."

Derek leans in for a kiss, but it's disappointingly quick, and Stiles can guess why. 

They still had a lot to talk about. This wasn't over. 

"You should head home, it's getting late." Derek says, after pulling away. Stiles notes with some glee that his eyes have grown darker. 

Score one for Stilinski. "Yeah." It's a resigned sigh, and it makes Derek huff out a laugh again.

"We can meet tomorrow. You can come back here after school. And help fix my window."

Stiles winces. "You saw that?"

"Heard it." Derek answers, and Stiles is pleased to note that he looks more amused than angry. "You know how you did it?"

"Nope. But to be honest, I don't really know how I'm doing any of this stuff."

Derek smiles once, but it's quick. Too quick. "You'll figure it out. Deaton will help, and so will the pack."

Stiles climbs into his Jeep, and rolls down the window before starting the engine. Derek was not going to get away from him that easily. "So, i'll see you tomorrow?"

Derek nods, before leaning in for another kiss. It's too quick for Stiles' liking, but he doesn't have the heart to pull the Alpha in once again. He didn't want to rush anything. Especially not this ... 

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

* * *

The Stilinski house is pitch black when Stiles arrives home. He thought that was odd, considering that the Sheriff would usually keep at least one light on for his son if he was heading out for the night, and Stiles hadn't yet arrived home. He always had done since that one morning he had arrived home to see Stiles sat at the kitchen table, with a bandage loosely wrapped around his swollen and bruised head. 

He had laughed after he had checked Stiles wasn't concussed, and joked that his son would probably manage to injure himself on thin air if he tried hard enough. 

Stiles had laughed then, but he wasn't laughing now. No lights on? No note? And no Sheriff ... that was strange. Stiles drops his backpack on the floor by the front door, and fumbles around the wall to his right, trying to find the light switch. After a few minutes of mumbling and fumbling he finds it. It clicks on, but nothing happens.

Stiles rolls his eyes into the dark. Just his luck. "Seriously?" The young man grumbles, before hitting the switch with more force. 

Stiles tries again, and again, but nothing happens. 

The young man lets his hand fall from the switch with a sigh, and takes a few cautious steps forward. His Dad was definitely out, but Stiles couldn't help but wonder whether his father would know why the house had suddenly been plunged into darkness.

He reaches down into his pant pockets, and pulls out his phone. The screen illuminates his face, and he winces, closing his eyes for a spilt second as he tries to adjust to the sudden brightness in the pitch black eyes.

When Stiles opens his blurry eyes, he sees that his has no calls from his father, or anyone else ... and he is no longer alone in his house.

A figure stands in front of him, holding a hammer. 

Stiles doesn't bother asking any questions, or even taking a moment to be annoyed at how back his luck seemed to be. Looking down at his phone, he presses the call button on instinct, not even bothering to check who it is he is calling, before spinning back towards the front door. He tries to call out, to try and wake his neighbours and let them know that once again, Stiles was in trouble. Before a sound can some from his mouth, a sharp thud hits the back of his head, and Stiles plunges to the hard wooden floor with a muffled cry. 

The last thing he sees before the world goes black is his cracked phone screen lying abandoned on the floor, with Derek's smirking face looking back at him as the call went to voicemail.  

As the strangers footsteps move closer, Stiles has only one thought .... Derek was going to kill him. 


	26. Chapter 26

**????**

Stiles head hurts.

No actually, it doesn't hurt. That wasn't the right word for this situation. 'Hurt' was how he would describe his head after he would _once again_ walk into his bedroom door, or how he feels when his Dad sneakily eats the last of his favourite cereal, and acts like he didn't.  _That_ was hurt. This, was unbelievable pain. This was agony. 

So, here he was. Kidnapped, tied up and probably bleeding. It was just another night for Beacon Hill's most unlucky human. Stiles can't help but sigh, despite the serious situation.   

But he's not stupid, and his Dad is the Sheriff. Stiles knows that by this point during the kidnapping, (he had always wondered why the Sheriff had felt the need to teach him about this kind of stuff, but now he was just sincerely grateful) he should be trying to concentrate on where he is, and what is happening to him. He should be looking around the room, trying to figure out if he can get up and move around; he should be doing anything really, other than being sat down and waiting for the inevitable. Stiles though, can't bring himself to even open his eyes.

Why was it always him? He seemed to have the worst luck.

Well, maybe not the worst luck, he amends internally. He could be dead already, and he was very much alive, albeit bleeding and bruised, so there was that.

He quickly pulls on the bonds behind his back and around his feet, and feels them move slightly at the strain. He could probably snap the cable tie that bound his wrists together if he really tried, but first - answers. Stiles was Stiles after all, he wasn't going to walk out of this freezing cold room without some answers. Plus, getting out of the chair was just step one in escaping. Stiles had about a million other things to worry about; like where he was and how he got here. He needed to get out of this room. 

Because he  _was_ going to walk out of this room. He was Stiles friggin Stilinski. He ran with werewolves. He faced down serial killers. He was one of the smartest kids in the entire town. Like hell was he going to get killed by some random dude with a hammer. 

After finally bringing himself to open his eyes, and after letting out a pathetic whine when his head throbs with pain once again, Stiles starts to take in his surroundings.

He immediately notes three things. One; he was in a basement of some sort. No windows, only one door, and no fresh air seeming to come through from anywhere. That meant he was under ground? Or at least he was somewhere far away from an exit out to the open. Great. He wasn't going to be able to clamber out of a window or door, and just run for it, hoping that he could stumble his way into help, or more likely, one of his furry friends. That had been plan A. Well actually, that had been plan A, B, C - all the way to friggin Z.

The second thing that Stiles notes, was that it was absolutely freezing, weirdly so. Sure, the town had gotten cold and miserable recently, but this was a whole new level. Stiles had been keeping an eye on the weather in Beacon Hills over the last few weeks. It had been oddly erratic, and the young man had been wondering if maybe it was something to do with all the other weird stuff that had been going on in the town. Stiles shivers, and blows out a shaky breath, but pushes that thought away for now. Not getting hypothermia or going into shock was the more pressing issue, not why the weather couldn't seem to make up it's mind. He shifts around in his seat a little, trying to get some friction against his clothes. There, that was distracting enough; he'd stopped shivering. For now at least. 

And thirdly, and finally, Stiles notes that he is the only thing in the entire room. There's no other furniture (except the chair that he was currently sat on), or random items strewn on the floor, or even anything that had indicated another person had ever been in this room. But Stiles knows he can't have been the only thing to come and go from his new dungeon. He didn't drag himself in whilst unconscious, sit himself on the chair and then tie his hands behind his own back. He was a capable guy, but that was just a little bit too much for him to manage by himself.

Not that he would ever tie himself up anyway, so the point was moot. Stiles wonders then, whilst he sits and internally monologues, whether he is delirious, or concussed? 

Stiles really wished there was another person in that room with him. At least if they didn't let him out he could yell at them, or demand them fetch him something for this throbbing (and no doubt bleeding) head. But as it was, he was completely alone, and tied to a chair. The chair is small and metal, and apparently embedded into the concrete floor, which annoys him greatly. No chance of snapping a leg off it, or pushing himself onto his back in an attempt to break free. He was absolutely and positively stuck in the one spot. 

It was his worst nightmare. 

Just as Stiles is about to concoct is master escape plan, that somehow involved him snapping his cable ties and breaking through a solid wall, the door to his prison opens. 

A figure slowly walks in, and Stiles recognises the man instantly as his kidnapper. It was hard to forget the shadowy and masked person who knocked you out with a hammer, after all.

The figure stands before him, and it takes Stiles two seconds to look the man up and down, and assess what (or he hoped who) he was dealing with.

 _Black clothes, gloves and mask ..._ Stiles thinks to himself,  _this guy knows what he's doing._ Unfortunately for him.  

"So ..." Stiles begins, closely eyeing the mask on his companions face. He needed to know more, especially who was behind that very mask, and Stiles thought it was only going to be a matter of time before he gave something away.

Time to distract, and that involved talking. Stiles was always really good at talking.

"You wanna tell me your name? Or your master plan? By all means." Stiles really wishes he could raises his arms in a sarcastic motion to continue. He's annoyed that he can't. As he is, he just raises his eyebrows, and then raises his shoulders as much as possible in a semblance of a shrug. "Please, don't be scared. The floor is yours my friend. The time for evil villain speeches is now."

The man doesn't speak, or even move.

He just stands, eerily silent. The mask covering his face is completely black, as is the rest of his ensemble, and Stiles can't help but let out a scoff as he takes in his kidnappers attire. He can almost hear his fathers un-amused sigh. After all, this was hardly a situation to make light of. Stiles though, can't seem to help himself. 

"Okay, no speaking. No moving, no breathing?" Stiles squints, but then sees the mans broad chest rise and fall. "Oh thank God, you're alive. Zombies or vampires would be just too much you know?" The man doesn't seem to know. He continues to stand, and stare. "Don't get me wrong, I've seen worse, but dead people? Or undead people?" Stiles frowns to himself then. "I dunno. Anyway, the point is, if you want me to not think you're some creepy half dead thing, you're gonna need to talk."

The man still doesn't talk.

"Okay." Stiles nods his head rather erratically then. He notes that his head wound doesn't seem to hurt as much as it did before, but he is sure that's not a good thing. It was either shock, or adrenaline. Neither of those were good. He was currently facing down his kidnapper though, so the head wound would have to wait. 

"So, nothing? You're not going to say anything?" Stiles wonders for a moment whether or not that slight movement of the shoulders is a sigh, or a shrug. His companion still doesn't say anything however, so Stiles can't be sure. He merely sighs himself, and lowers his own head. "Yeah, that's not creepy at all."

The figure still doesn't move, and hasn't really moved. Stiles thinks it's unnatural just how still the masked man is being. How can anyone do that? The man doesn't shift his weight, or cock his head, or even cross his arms. Stiles nods to himself then, ignoring the protesting throb his head gives at the erratic movement. This was what he had to work with, so he was going to work with it.

"So ... the hammer? The vigilante esque costume? Don't tell me, you're a ninja? No wait ... a rogue carpenter?" Nothing, but Stiles hadn't really expected anything. "Okay so, no dice on the costume. Fair enough. I don't need an explanation. I can just assume your going for the ninja look. What about the kidnapping though? Was I just a lucky guy? What am I saying, of course you meant to kidnap me!" Stiles knows he should probably try and calm down, or at least stop his voice from being so hysterical, but he finds that he can't. He just keeps talking. "Because it's me! I'm the unluckiest mother fucker in Beacon Hills! Of course I would get knocked out, and tied up in a creepy ass basement!"

He pulls in a mouthful of oxygen, but it is more of a gasp than a calming breath. "Well you know what, screw you. Screw Beacon Hills. Screw my life! I'm not the one with claws and fangs! I'm just ..."

Was that a reaction? Stiles tries not to let his expression of horror and annoyance fall. Instead he just keeps ranting, but his companion had definitely reacted to the 'claw' comment.  Bingo, Stiles was on to something. Either his kidnapper had no idea what Stiles had meant, or he knew  _exactly_ what he was talking about. And no way was this all just a coincidence ....

It was Beacon Hills. There was no such thing as a coincidence.  

"You know, my Dad is the Sheriff. That doesn't have to be a bad thing, my ninja friend. He can get you whatever you want! Police records, access to databases... He even has a friend in the FBI. I know," Stiles laughs, a sarcastic smirk on his face. "that was my reaction as well. The FBI?! I was so pumped. It's pretty awesome." 

Stiles is bullshitting now. Not about his Dad knowing someone in the FBI, but about the friend thing. Scott's Dad was hardly a friend. But he wanted to see what would make his companion panic. The cops? The FBI? Or werewolves?

He was guessing werewolves.

"You're not from around here then?" Still nothing, but at this point, Stiles doesn't really care, he just keeps talking. "You know, Beacon Hills is kinda interesting. The Preserve -"

Stiles cuts himself off then, and snaps his mouth shut.

Somewhere above him, a door had been pulled open with a groan. Someone else was here. 

He finally sees a reaction from his kidnapper, as he seems to almost stand to attention. Scared? Stiles really hoped he was scared.

Instead of questioning his sudden change of mood, Stiles just lets a smile spread onto his face, and politely asks, "Expecting someone?"

Apparently he hadn't been. 

The door to his dungeon opens slowly, and Stiles hears the large metal door protest at the movement, just as someone groans as they push against it. This place was pretty well made. Werewolf proofed maybe? Stiles almost wants to tell his kidnapper, or kidnappers, that he appreciated all the trouble just for little old human him. He doesn't get to make his smart comment however, as he suddenly sees who had just stepped into the room.

She is also wearing black, and her hair is soaked through. It must have been raining outside. 

"Miss Morrell?"

The woman freezes, before looking over towards Stiles. She looks just as shocked to see him as he is to see her.

"What the hell did you do?" She addresses the masked man, but he still doesn't speak. He just lowers his head. "What the hell are you playing at?! He's the Sheriff's son, people will know he's missing."

"Counting on that." Stiles says, smirking slightly. Marin Morrell though, doesn't look amused. 

In fact, she looks terrified. 

"Stiles, I'm so sorry."

That Stiles was not expecting to hear. "Wait, what? You're sorry."

"You have nothing to do with any of this. This wasn't supposed to happen." She directs that last part at her companion, glaring at him fiercely.

Stiles scoffs. "You're  _friend_ over here broke into my house, knocked me out, _with a hammer_ , and then tied me up!" Stiles squirms and winces in his chair, just to prove his point. "I think the apology is a little late." 

"We have to let him go ..."

The masked figure reaches out, and grabs Marin just as she was about to move over to Stiles. He seems to squeeze harshly, as Marin winces, before violently pulling her arm out of his grasp. That didn't seem to be a friendly gesture. Maybe they weren't really allies? 

What the hell was going on? 

"Stiles isn't apart of this. He's innocent."

"He knows too much."

It's only four words, spoken quickly and gruffly as if the man wanted to hide his true voice, but it's enough for Stiles to recognise that it is a mans voice, and its familiar. He recognises it only slightly, but just as he tries to figure out how he recognises it, a crash sounds from upstairs. 

Marin and the man freeze, and turn to look in the direction of the noise.

"It's here." Morrell moves back over to the door, and Stiles can only watch with wide eyes as she quickly leaves the room. 

Once again he's alone with his kidnapper. This is just not his day. 

"I know you." Stiles growls, all hysteria and sarcasm gone from his voice now. "How do I know you?"

The man turns slowly, looking over towards the closed door, and to where Marin had left. Another crash sounds from upstairs, but this time, his kidnapper doesn't seem to be concerned. Before Stiles can ask him what was going on, the man turns back towards him. He reaches behind his back and slowly, almost in slow motion, he pulls out a gun.

Stiles gulps.

"Marin didn't want you to kill me." 

The figure twists the black weapon around in his hands, as if he were admiring in.

"She's smart, and she's right. My Dad and my friends will find me, and it won't end well for you."

The figure let's out a huff of a laugh, and for a moment Stiles wishes he hadn't said anything. That laugh sent a chill up his spine. Another crash sounds from upstairs, this time louder. He hears Marin say something, but can't make out what it is. His kidnapper though, stiffens, as if he had finally realised something.

Stiles nods his head up to the noise. "Marin needs you upstairs." 

Another laugh, this one deeper, and once again, Stiles is chilled by it. Who the hell was this guy.

"This will only take a minute ..."

This is not the first time Stiles has looked down the barrel of a gun. 

Matt though, had held the thing almost as if he were scared of it - like he was scared that it was going to do more damage to him than it would to whoever he was aiming at. This time, the gun is not shaking, and Stiles is sure that this time, he's going to get shot.

Jesus.

"Don't." Stiles doesn't know how his voice can sound so steady. It should be shaking. "Think this through. This isn't a good idea."

Another crash, this one sounding even closer, and more serious than before. For a moment, it distracts Stiles from the gun. It's only for a moment though.

"Get up here! We need to get out of here!" Marin all but screams, but the words are muffled through the walls and the doors. 

The man doesn't lower the gun. 

"Now! WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW!" 

Another crash, and another, and another ...

"ADRIAN! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!"

Stiles feels the blood drain from his face. The gun shakes now, as the kidnapper takes a step back, and then another.

"Adrian?" Stiles rasps, his eyes wide with shock. "Adrian Harris."

Stiles doesn't get an answer to his question, but he doesn't need to. He knew he recognised that voice. The young man opens his mouth, about to question what the hell was going on, but he doesn't get a chance. 

Harris raises the gun, and swings it into Stiles' temple. 

The world goes black once again. 

This  _really_ wasn't Stiles' day. 

* * *

Stiles opens his eyes slowly, and it only takes him two seconds to realise that he is going to vomit. 

He quickly throws his head to the side, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, and is violently sick all over the concrete floor. Concussion? Or maybe it was the fact that his teacher had kidnapped and tried to kill him, that had caused him to be ill.

Stiles thinks it's probably the latter.

He slowly moves to sit upright, careful not to move too quickly. He's woozy, and still feels sick, but he's awake. That's a start ... 

Stiles internal monologue is cut off abruptly when he realises that he can smell burning. It's a strange thing to notice, and in his sorry state, Stiles wonders for a second whether he is imagining it. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen to him. 

But no, Stiles is positive that he smells burning. He raises his head, noticing the door to his cell is once again closed, and takes a deep breath.

He coughs and splutters as a harsh chemical smell fills his nose, and pauses for a moment to check whether he is going to vomit again. Once was enough. 

"Hello?"

Stiles doesn't know who he is calling for. He doesn't want Harris to come back, and Marin? Well that would just be really awkward. Instead, Stiles hopes and prays that whoever, or whatever, had scared them so much was still here.

Stiles wonders when he had lost all sense of self preservation.

Here he was, calling out for something that had scared two people half to death. He's sure it's the werewolves influence.

"Anyone there?"

He calls out once again, before his head suddenly spins, and he is forced to close his eyes and take deep breaths. That second hit to his temple had been worse than the first. If he wasn't bleeding before, he definitely was now. 

This time, he doesn't look up or even open his eyes when he speaks. He doesn't think the could even if he wanted to. "Help ..." It's pathetically quiet, and Stiles grits his teeth, before speaking once again. "Help!"

He. Was. Not. Going. To. Die. Here.

That just wouldn't be fair. No epic death running with werewolves, or facing down a mythical monster. No boring human death of old age; he's sure that's what his Dad would want. And Derek, he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Derek didn't deserve to loose someone else.

"HELP!"

The smell is worse now.

Stiles opens his eyes, and quickly looks around the room. He hadn't seen a window or vent before, but now he's desperately hoping that he had just missed one. He needed some fresh air. That smell of chemical and burning was choking him.

His eyes reach the door, and he squints, unsure of what he is looking at. As Stiles watches, a small trickle of black smoke flows under the door.

Shit.

"HELLO! HELLO! IS ANYONE THERE! HEL -"

The door is blown open, and smoke freely flows into the room in a rush.

Stiles closes his eyes, and coughs as the polluted air reaches his lungs. It was hot now, and Stiles blanches as he realises just how close the fire was. 

The young man looks back towards the door slowly, still coughing as the smoke surrounds him. Stiles sees two glowing red eyes in the darkness, and for a split second he is overjoyed, letting a smile grow onto his tied and filthy face.

Then he looks more closely, and sees who the eyes belong to. 

"Parrish?"

The man doesn't move. He stands in the doorway, unblinking eyes facing forward, and burning a deep red. 

"Are you naked? You're naked?" Stiles doesn't know why he bothers to say it. Sure it was true, but there were more pressing issues. Not burning to death for example, and -

Wait, why was Parrish not burning to death?

The fire laps at his back; small flames that signal the spread of the fire. Black smoke billows around Parrish, but he doesn't move from it's path. He doesn't seem to be bothered by the heat, or the polluted air.

Stiles _knew_ there was something weird about him. 

"Why are you naked?" Stiles asks, or more like splutters, before erratically shaking his head. "No, not important. I'm just pleased to see you."

Parrish doesn't respond. In fact, he doesn't move at all. He just continues to stare somewhere above Stiles' head.

The young man sighs, and gazes heavenward for a moment. Why him? 

"Another strong silent type ... Hey, you wanna help me get out of here?"

Parrish still doesn't move.

Stiles opens his mouth, about to beg or make a sarcastic comment, he can't be sure, but the fire roars suddenly. It pushes another plume of smoke into the room, and not for the first time, Stiles begins to feel the heat. 

Fuck 

"Parrish? Parrish! Get me the hell out of here!"

Stiles thinks it would be a really cruel way to die; looking into the eyes of someone who could save you. 

"PARRISH!"

Finally the man pulls his gaze away from the wall, and looks down at Stiles. He still doesn't blink, or even appear to recognise who he is looking at, but Stiles doesn't care. This was progress.

"Okay, now, get me out of here." Stiles says it calming and simply, as if he were speaking to a small child. 

Something finally seems to click in Parrish, just as another wave of heat enters the room. He takes a few step forward, and Stiles almost cries with relief. 

He was going to get out of here. 

He was going to live. 

Parrish pulls the cable ties that had bound Stiles away, as if they were nothing more than paper. Stiles coughs and gasps as he waits to be untied, before standing. He sways dangerously, but manages not to fall over. Parrish though, has other ideas. He merely bends, and scoops Stiles into his arms. 

Stiles is too tired to even care. 

The man walks Stiles to the back of the room, away from the fire. Stiles is glad to get away from the heat, but can't help but notice that they are now facing a wall. A solid concrete wall. 

"Parrish?"

He just stands, facing the wall, silent and unmoving. Meanwhile, the fire grows closer.

"Ya'know, this is only half a rescue. The other half is getting ou-"

"Stiles?!"

Stiles whips his head around so quickly he is almost certain he is going to throw up once again. He can't help it though. That was Derek's voice, coming from the other side of the wall ...

"Tell Parrish to get back!"

Stiles doesn't stop to question that. He just looks up to Parrish's blank face, and tells him, "Move back."

He does.

The wall crumbles behind claws, boots, and a baseball bat? Huh, so it wasn't as solid as Stiles had thought. 

Stiles waits until he can take a deep breath of clean air before passing out once again. That was only polite, after all. 

* * *

He wakes in Derek's arms, and has a million questions running through his head. 

Derek seems to notice, as he just looks down into Stiles' eyes with a amused expression. "Go back to sleep."

Stiles tries to stretch out, but realises that he is cradled in Derek's arms. Well, at least it wasn't Parrish.

Parrish.

"What the -" Stiles sucks in a breath, and Derek frowns down at him.

"Calm down." It's a command, and Stiles doesn't even care. He just sighs, and lowers his head.

Questions and answers could wait until after he had stopped wanting to throw up, and once he had some pain killers. He looks around slowly and notices that they are walking through the Preserve, and it's pitch black.

Well, make a million and one questions to ask. 

"I was sleeping?" Stiles asks, his voice cracking. He coughs harshly, trying to expel whatever was still on his lungs, and Derek winces, before quickly changing his expression. 

"You were snoring." 

He's trying to ease the tension, Stiles knows, but he can see tear tracks down the dirt and ash on Derek's face. He'd been crying.

"What happened?"

"We'll talk about it when we get back to your place. Just go back to sleep." 

Stiles huffs, knowing that he's not going to win this argument. Just as he is ready to concede, and snuggle deeper into Derek's arms, he spots Scott. The young Alpha is walking behind Derek with a sheepish expression. He's covered in ash and debris as well, and Stiles frowns. 

"Scott?"

Scott appears to be have been crying as well. His eyes seem to water as he smiles, and croaks out a, "Hey, man."

"Why you looking at me like that?" Stiles asks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

"Stiles, your eyes were green." Scott answers, his smile growing even larger now. " _Bright_ green."

"They were glowing." Derek adds, his voice a growl. 

"Really?" Stiles asks quietly, his voice a harsh rasp. "Cool."

Derek growls once again, un-amused, and Stiles takes that as his cue to pass out once again.

It had been a long day after all. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Wednesday 27th April**

Stiles tries to open his eyes and wake himself up, he really does, but he decides after a while of murmuring and tossing and turning that he deserves a bit of a break.

He let's himself lie still for just a while longer, trying to let his mind drift ... 

He's really starting to get sick of this; of waking up with a pounding headache and a million questions running through his head. It seemed to be a common side effect of being just a mere mortal who ran with werewolves, and who always seemed to be around other supernatural craziness.

Stiles groans out loud as his head starts to pound more violently. The young man idly wonders then, whether this feeling is what it must feel like to be in college. But alas, the headache isn't the creeping beginnings of a wicked hangover, and the questions running through his head have nothing to do with waking up next to someone he doesn't know. 

Although, there is someone next to his bed.  

"Morning." Derek says quietly, with a small smile which doesn't seem to reach his eyes. 

He's wearing his usual ensemble, black jeans and his leather jacket, but the Alpha suddenly looks so much younger to Stiles. It was as if he was seeing Derek in a costume; something designed to make him look tough and rugged, rather than it being something that suited him. Stiles could see the tiredness behind Derek's easy going expression, and how tense he was feeling by the way he was occasionally running his hands up and down his worn pants. Stiles realises then that Derek  _is_ young. Or at least, he's younger than he and Scott had once believed him to be. He had just gone through so much, had seen so much ... Stiles had never really been able to tell how much everything had effected him. 

Now he could. 

Wow, how hard had he hit his head this time? He was getting philosophical all of a sudden. 

Stiles blinks, then squints, and then blinks some more. "Bleurgh ..." Reaching up, the young man runs a hand over his eyes, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his wrists at the movement. He'd been tied up, that was something he remembered. And then there was something about being in the Preserve ...

Yeah, this must be exactly what it's like to be in College.

"What time is it?" Stiles asks, his throat cracking as he speaks. 

"About midday." Derek answers in a low voice. "You've only been asleep a few hours." He adds, no doubt sensing Stiles' incoming panic. "Don't worry about it. You needed the rest."

"What's going on? Where's -"

"We're at your house, in your bedroom." Derek interrupts, obviously hearing Stiles' heartbeat rising with each question, and knowing he would have probably kept asking questions until he had no breath left to speak with. 

"Funnily enough, I figured that much out by myself, Sourwolf." Stiles replies snarkily, in too much discomfort to really worry about putting some sarcasm into his words. 

Derek doesn't seem to mind being snapped at. For once.  

"Your Dad is downstairs with the Pack, and Melissa." The Alpha continues, as Stiles shifts on his bed, beginning to try and pull himself up into a sitting position. "She's checked you over, and you seem fine. Just a few cuts and bruises."

"Really?" Stiles questions, resting one of his cold hands against his pounding head. "You guys didn't take me to the hospital?"

Derek pulls a face, and Stiles wonders for a moment if whether that's because Derek's offended that Stiles thought they hadn't even though about it, or if it's because they'd already had this conversation when he was asleep. 

"Your Dad didn't want you out of his sight."

Stiles assumes that it meant his father had won that argument. Huh, score one to the human. Stiles smiles to himself then, touched by Derek's concern, before he realises that means his father was aware of his kidnapping. 

Shit. 

"Wait, my Dad -"

"Knows about the kidnapping, and the rescue, and -" Derek cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, but Stiles just sits, and waits. "He knows about the fire." Derek continues, his words coming out in a rush. "But he doesn't know anything about the werewolves. Or whatever the hell Parrish is. Or you." Derek adds, his eyes wide and knowing.

Oh yeah. Stiles starts to remember something about his eyes glowing.

Great. Yet another thing for him to panic about. 

Stiles lets out an almighty sigh of relief at hearing that his father hadn't be introduced to the madness of werewolves just yet, and sinks further into the comfort of his bed. "Oh thank God."

Derek smirks slightly, before his expression changes to frown. "He has a lot of questions."

"Yeah, well he'll have to get in line. Because so do I." 

Stiles turns to Derek then, his eyebrow raised. Derek sighs, and stands up from Stiles' desk chair. He slowly begins to pace the length of the room, his hands in his pockets. 

"Your Dad called Scott after he got home and saw you were ... taken. Things were broken, and there was blood on the floor." Stiles automatically brings a hand up to poke at the injury on his head. Derek frowns at him, before continuing his story. "Scott gathered the pack to try and find you. We followed your scent trail from the house into the Preserve. We couldn't get a car through the trees after a while, so we had to go on foot. We got back here early this morning. "

Stiles frowns, "You missed out a crucial part there big guy." The young man points out, before crossing his arms. He winces slightly when he nudges his injured wrists, but he tries not to let the pain show on his face.

Derek clenches his jaw, and pointedly looks away from the young man led in front of him. He looked, almost guilty.  

"You were bleeding pretty badly." Stiles swears Derek shudders at that. "So we had a lead to follow. It was easy to follow the scent trail. It's as if someone hadn't counted on you knowing any werewolves." Stiles puts a pin in that information for later. "That same someone had carried you into the preserve." Stiles waits patiently for the Alpha to continue, but he has to tap his fingers against his covered knee to keep himself quiet. He still had _so many_ questions. "When you're up to it, we need to head back there."

"Into the Preserve?"

"Yeah. We have something to show you."

Stiles huffs out a laugh, but it sounds more like a cough. "Well, that's not ominous or anything."

"It's ..." Derek trails off, clearly struggling with getting his words right. Once again, Stiles just waits. "Where we found you, it's strange. Deaton swears he can sense some sort of magic there, but I couldn't sense anything at all. It's as if nothing had been there, but _we'd_ just been there." Derek sighs, "It's so strange." 

"Understatement." At the Alpha's raised eyebrow, Stiles adds. "It's the Preserve, Derek. It's all more than strange. It's ... freakishly weird."

Derek smiles quickly at that. "True."

"So ..." Stiles shifts again, before pulling himself up even further. He wanted to look less injured; less like a fainting damsel, and more like the hero who just needed a quick lie down. "So, the werewolves used my scent,  _that's still weird to me by the way,_ and you guys found me, and brought me back."

"Yeah, that's the short version."

"And what's the long version?"

Derek sighs, before throwing himself down into the chair he had just vacated, and running a hand through his hair. It looked like he hadn't slept in a while. "We were all going out of our minds, Stiles. Scott got called over to the house, and he saw the blood. Smelled your fear ..."

Stiles can't help but smirk at that. He blames lack of sleep, his concussion, the blood loss, and just the overall craziness of the situation, for his sudden inappropriate humour. "I really want to make a joke about you guys being able to smell fear, but it seems kinda -"

"Please don't." Derek interrupts, and his face shows no sign of amusement. Clearly this wasn't the time to be making jokes. 

But he was Stiles Stilinski. All he had was jokes. 

"Okay." Stiles agrees, before going quiet once again, waiting for Derek to carry on. When he doesn't, Stiles sighs, and shifts around on his small bed once again. He was really stiff. "So, when you guys were in the Preserve, following Eau de Stiles, what was my Dad doing?"

"He wasn't with us. He was at the station, following a lead. Someone had called in a sighting at the High School. Obviously, it wasn't you."

Stiles nods, starting to see a clearer picture. 

Before he can ask another question, a rough cough erupts from his throat, and he hacks and splutters. He looks over to Derek, about to ask for a firm pat on the back or a tissue, when he see's Derek's face. 

He looked  _devastated._

Stiles continues to cough for a few more seconds, unable to stop himself. Shit. It was the smoke he had inhaled.

During the fire.  

"I'm okay." Stiles rasps, still coughing slightly. "It's -"

"The smoke from the fire."

Stiles curses the universe as he leans back and begins to try and breathe normally. Derek did not deserve this shit. He didn't deserve any shit, _ever_.

"So," Stiles begins, when the coughing had subsided, "this lead that got called in -"

"Stiles, you know who kidnapped you, don't you?" Derek interrupts, his eyes harsh. 

Well, that was unexpected. 

"You don't?" Stiles questions, desperately trying to make sure he didn't sound like he was trying to be a smart ass. 

"No, and it's killing me." Derek all but growls, and once again Stiles has to stop himself from making a lame dog joke. 

Wrong place, and definitely wrong time. 

"It's ... strange." Stiles replies, because it really was. 

What were the chances of two people working at the High School being insane wolfsbane planting, teenage kidnapping psychopaths? Or maybe they were sociopaths? He never had been really good at figuring out which was which. 

" _Stiles._ "

Stiles blinks a few times, realising that he had totally just got lost in his own head. It wasn't the first time, but this time he had a very angry looking Alpha glowering at him from above his bed.

He wishes he could say that was the first time that had happened in his life. 

"Przemysław."

Now it was Derek's turn to look stunned. 

"What?"

"That's my real name." Stiles answers easily, with a smirk. "Przemysław."

He says it a little slower the second time, knowing that it usually took a while before people could get around the pronunciation. And by people, Stiles meant Scott. He was the only other person he had told. Ever. 

"That's ... interesting." Derek replies, and Stiles can see that he's torn between a smile and a frown. 

Stiles smiles himself, surprised for a moment that he actually doesn't feel embarrassed about sharing this with Derek. He'd come back to that little realisation later. Much later, when there was less impending doom and wolfsbane.

"It means someone's who's smart. Well, that's a very basic translation, but you get the idea."

"It suits you."

Okay, Stiles is definitely not blushing. 

"Thanks, Sourwolf."

"But you're stalling ..." Derek challenges, with a raised eyebrow.

Stiles sighs, and leans his head back against his bedroom wall. The cool wall feels good against his aching head. Jesus, how hard had Harris hit him?

 _Harris._ The guy who had been teaching Stiles for nearly two years. The guy who used to grumble loudly in the morning when he sat at his desk, and spilt coffee over his paperwork. The guy who had rolled his eyes at Stiles' smartass comments in class, before assigning him even more homework as punishment.

Sure, he was an asshole, but this? 

How did that guy end up being behind a gun aimed at Stiles' head? 

It was still crazy for him to even think about, let alone say out loud. But by Derek's expression, he wasn't going to accept a shrug as an answer. Stiles was going to have to explain himself.

"I know I'm stalling, but I really don't know where to start with all this."

"Start from the beginning." Derek insists eagerly, almost leaning forward in anticipation. 

Stiles just frowns. "Shouldn't I tell my Dad all this? What does he know?"

"That me and Scott found you in the Preserve. Parrish was there to, investigating his own lead." Stiles opens his mouth to comment on that little bit of information, but Derek gets there first. "That's what he's told your father. He couldn't exactly tell him the truth."

"Is he here?"

Derek shakes his head. "He's talking to Deaton, trying to get some answers himself."

"He doesn't know what happened either?"

"No. When he handed you over to me, it's like he woke up. He know's about werewolves, and the Pack, but he told me he hadn't planned on meeting with us. Actually, he said he'd wanted to avoid us."

"Really?"

Derek just shrugs. "It happens sometimes. Some people would rather avoid other supernatural creatures, rather than hang out with them."

Stiles smirks, before frowning. "What is he?" He asks, genuinely interested.

He'd been on fire. No ... had Stiles imagined that?

"I don't know, and neither does he." Derek replies, drawing Stiles back into the conversation. He really needed to stop daydreaming. "That's why he came to Beacon Hills, to get some answers."

"Well," Stiles sighs, before moving to climb out of bed. "I hope he gets them."

"And where are you going?" Derek questions, and it could have sounded amused, if it wasn't for the concern on his face.

"You said you wanted to hear the full story, and everyone is downstairs, so I'm going to tell  _everyone_ the full story. Downstairs."

"Even your Dad?" Derek questions, as he stands to follow Stiles from his bedroom.

"Yeah," Stiles replies with a gulp. "Even my Dad."

* * *

"So, I think that's everything ..."

Stiles looks over to Derek, who nods in response to his questioning expression. He'd half expected the Alpha to add something, or at least correct him. He was the werewolf after all. Stiles can't help but feel a little proud at the fact that he'd seemed to get everything right.

Well, he'd skipped over some things. Like the fact that Miss Morrell from school had been there. For some reason, he didn't feel like he should tell everyone that. At least, not yet. 

Scott nods as well, although he doesn't turn away from where he had been looking at the Sheriff. 

Stiles realises then that everyone was looking at the Sheriff with bated breath. It was as if they were waiting for the impending reaction. Yelling, disbelief, swearing ... just something. Stiles though, know's his Dad. He wasn't the type to start screaming or throwing things around the room. He was the type to ask questions. 

 _A lot_ of questions. 

"I need a drink." The Sheriff grumbles, as he stands from the sofa. "Or twelve." He adds, as he looks around the room at the mix of humans and werewolves.

A drink? Stiles thinks as he watches his father. Well, that wasn't good. 

Jackson actually raises his hand, and gives a little wave when Stiles' fathers gaze sweeps over him. Lydia elbows him in the ribs, as Allison gives the Sheriff a sympathetic smile. 

The Sheriff shakes his head, as if to clear it, before marching out of the room towards the kitchen. 

"Dad -"

"Let him go Stiles." Melissa insists, easily slipping down next to Stiles on the sofa, where his father had just been sitting. "God knows after I found out everything I needed a stiff drink too."

Stiles can't bring himself to smile. "Do you mind ... I mean ... could you stay with him? I just don't want him to be alone right now."

The smile drops off Melissa's face instantly, replaced instead with a soft expression. She wraps an arm around his shoulders, and gives a reassuring squeeze. "Sure thing."

Melissa follows the Sheriff from the room, leaving Stiles with the Pack. Or at least, most of it.

"Where's Peter? And Boyd and Erica?"

"Where we found you." Derek answers, "They're keeping an eye on the place in case Harris or anyone else shows up."

Stiles huffs out a cold laugh. "I doubt they're that stupid that they'd go back there so soon after."

"They were stupid enough to take you." Derek growls, and Stiles knows he really shouldn't find that sweet, but he does.

He'd clearly been spending way too much time in the company of werewolves. He takes in the room then, and notices that Parrish and Deaton were also still to arrive. "What about Deaton?"

"He's still with Parrish." Scott answers, "They're going to meet us when you're ready."

"Are you okay with this?" Derek asks, his expression serious. "If you don't want to go back there -"

"No it's okay." Stiles answers honestly, because it was, and he still had some questions of his own he wouldn't mind getting answered. "I'm okay." He adds, sending a quick smile around the room at the pack. Stiles isn't really sure whether he says he's okay to reassure them, or to reassure himself.

It seems to work though, as even Scott seems to relax. As Derek begins to talk about who was going with who, Stiles swears he sees Lydia brush something away from her face. 

Oh god, had me made Lydia cry?!

Stiles from five years ago would have killed him.

"Stiles?" Derek is looking at him like he's insane.

"Oh, sorry. I'm ready to go when you guys are."

Everyone begins to stand, but Stiles pauses, and points over towards the kitchen.

"My Mom's going to stay with him, and try and answer any questions he has." Scott answers, with a warm smile. Stiles had missed that stupid goofy smile. 

"Which should be a lot." Isaac adds, with a smile of his own. "I still have questions about all this stuff."

"He'll be fine, Stiles." Derek says, his hand coming up to rest on Stiles' shoulder. "C'mon, you're with me."

"Can I drive the Camaro?"

"Even if you didn't have a head injury, the answer would be no."

Stiles pouts, about to argue about that being all the more reason to be able to drive the Camaro, but his complaints are drowned out by Jackson's laugh.

Jackass.

* * *

Stiles and Derek hold hands as they walk with the Pack through the Preserve. No one comments on it, or even looks in their direction, and Stiles is grateful. He's already using a lot of energy on not running in the opposite direction, and doesn't really want to waste any more on answering probing questions about his love life.

Stiles has used the silent walk to the Preserve to think about just that; his love life. What was this between him and Derek? Derek had looked horrible, _heartbroken,_ when Stiles had woken up. And he had been there, carrying him from the fire, even though they had been fighting.  

And there had been a fire.

Derek had run _towards_ a fire.

For him. 

To save him. 

Once again, Stiles curses the universe for it's horrendous treatment of Derek Hale. Not only did, whatever Stiles is to Derek, get caught up in a fire, Derek would have hand to stand their, and _watch it_ happen, knowing he couldn't doing anything about it. Stiles is sure that he's going to need to talk to the Alpha at some point about what happened. About the fact that he had been crying ...  

Just then, Derek squeezes his hand, and Stiles looks up at the Alpha's face. 

"We're here." Derek says quietly, before looking over to a small wooden shed sitting alone in the middle of a small ditch.

What the hell?  

Stiles frowns nodding down towards the remains of the building below him, "This this it?" He questions, disbelief clear in his voice. 

It's basically a blackened shell, and definitely had been burnt in a raging fire, but here? This couldn't be where Stiles had been held. Where were the concrete walls? Where's the prison like basement Stiles had been sure he had been in? 

"Yeah, this is where we found you." Derek answers, his voice no more than a low growl.

Scott and Isaac walk towards the small building, and Stiles hears Erica and Boyd greet them, before they emerge from behind the small burnt building. Stiles waves over at them, but Derek stops him with a strong arm on his shoulder before he can walk forward, down towards the others. 

"Hang on a second." The Alpha says, not coldly. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Okay ..." Stiles answers slowly, his face drawing into a frown.

Derek sighs, before dropping his hand from Stiles' shoulder. He runs a hand through his hair, and Stiles has to stop himself from gulping.

He hated when people 'need to talk'. That never ended well for anyone.  

"When we found you, this whole place was on fire." Derek does shudder this time, and Stiles reaches back towards Derek's hand. The Alpha doesn't pull away from Stiles' grasp. He takes a shaky breath, before he continues. "We knew you were in there, we could smell you, and hear you shouting, but I ... I froze Stiles." 

"Derek," Stiles swears the other werewolves would have been able to hear his heart breaking. "I understand. It was -"

"No, you don't understand Stiles." 

Stiles is about to pull his hand away, but Derek just grasps it even tighter.

"What do you mean?" The young man questions, trying to ignore the fact that the pack was no doubt listening in by now, having sensed Derek's discomfort.

Werewolves man, and there crazy werewolf emotion detectors. Stiles was never going to get used to it.  

"Stiles, I really care about you. I _really_ care about you." Stiles is pleased to see a small smile on Derek's lips, and he let's out a small sigh of relief at the sight of it. "Maybe it was because we were friends first but -"

"Friends?" Stiles questions with a smirk. "I thought I was the annoying kid who wouldn't leave your 'private property'." The last words are a terrible imitation of the Alpha, but it seems to work.

Derek really does smile this time.

"Yeah, you were an annoying kid. Then you were a kid who would not stop getting into trouble." Stiles can't argue with that. "Then you were one of the bravest kid's I'd ever seen. And then ..." Derek moves a little closer then, and Stiles feels like he's about to explode or squeal from the anticipation.

Neither would be good. 

"And then I was what?"

"You were mine."

Stiles swears his face is going to break in half, he's smiling so widely. 

Somewhere in the distance, he can hear Erica squeal in delight. He ignores the sound, and Scott, who is angrily shushing someone. He knows he should be embarrassed with the fact that they're not exactly having this conversation in private, but Stiles can't bring himself to care. 

Derek doesn't, so why should he. 

"Really?" Is all he manages to squeak out, his cold hand still grasped in Derek's warm one. 

"Yeah, and I was yours." Derek continues, smiling warmly, and Stiles swears the Alpha looks shy. "I think I might have been yours the minute you called me 'Sourwolf'." The Alpha adds, much to Stiles' delight. 

Stiles laughs himself then, forgetting for a moment where he was, and what he was standing near. "I thought you hated that name?" The young man questions, thinking back to the first time he had called the Alpha that.

It had been a long time ago ... 

Derek shrugs. "It grew on me, and so did you." He leans in then, and Stiles is sure Derek is going to kiss him. He holds his breath in anticipation, but just before their lips meet, Derek leans back slightly. "Like a rash ..." 

"That's me! I'm a rash." Stiles exclaims, causing Derek to wince at the sudden change in volume. "Hey Scott!" Stiles yells down towards his friend, his face burning, and he's not sure whether it's from excitement or embarrassment. "I'm a rash!"

"Shut up Stiles, you're ruining the moment!" Scott calls back, as Isaac just laughs along with Boyd, shaking his head. 

"No, Erica is ruining the moment!" Stiles calls back, glaring at the still squealing Beta as she all but jumps up and down on the spot with glee. 

"Sorry. It's just so -" 

"Adorable?" Boyd puts in, and Stiles laughs along with the others, whilst Derek just glares. 

"If you ever call me adorable again, I'll rip your throat out."

"With his teeth." Stiles finishes.

Derek looks over at him with surprise. Surely, he didn't think Stiles would have forgotten that little back and forth. 

Who could? 

"And you're even finishing each others sentences!" Erica continues, as Derek rolls his eyes, and begins to make his way down the incline towards his Pack. "It's so sweet."

"Erica ..." Scott warns, and she finally stops her frantic movements. 

Stiles had reached the small blackened building, and frowns as he takes it in  

"But ... I don't understand." Stiles murmurs, as he begins to walk around the perimeter of the building. "I swear could hear people above me, like I was in a basement or something."

"What else do you remember, Stiles?" Derek questions, and everyone else remains quiet, waiting. 

"You mean, apart from Parrish being on fire?"

Derek's face does something complicated, before he answers with a quick, "Yes." Clearly the Alpha had seen that as well. Stiles is glad. That meant he wasn't completely crazy. 

"Miss Morrell was there too."

"Wait, Miss Morrell?" Scott questions, as he walks towards his friend. "The guidance councillor from school."

"Yep. That's her." Stiles replies, as everyone sends questioning looks towards each other. 

Clearly they realise that Stiles isn't joking, as Boyd exclaims a quick "Holy shit." Whilst Derek pulls out his phone, and texts someone.

"She kidnapped you?!" Scott exclaims, and now it's Stiles' turn to wince at the sudden change in volume. "Why didn't you mention that back at the house?"

"Because ..." Stiles pauses then, trying to get his words right. "Because she wasn't the one who kidnapped me. She didn't even really hurt me. She was just kinda ... there."

"Did she help you?" Scott asks, his voice a low growl, as his eyes burn red. 

"No. I mean, I guess not." Stiles answers truthfully, before he shrugs. "She apologised."

"Oh, well I guess that's okay then!"

"Scott ..." Derek warns, stepping back towards the group with a frown on his own face. Stiles notices that he's still holding his phone in his hand. 

"Don't tell me you're alright with this, Derek?" Scott exclaims, and Stiles has to admit, he's slightly flattered by Scott's concern. 

"Oh, I'm not. I'm really not okay with it. But we have a bigger problem than Marin Morrell right now."

"Wait, Marin?" Stiles questions. "Where have I heard -"

Suddenly, he realises just where he had heard that name before.

Marin, Alan Deaton's sister. 

What. The. Hell. 

Derek winces, as if he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking. "Deaton's on his way here. Peter as well. He just went to check on the wolfsbane garden." Derek looks worried after he mentions the garden, and Stiles sighs before looking heaven ward. 

"What happened?"

The rest of the pack turn to look at Derek in question, as his eyes begin to burn a deep crimson.

"Someone's gathered the plants. The gardens empty."

"For fuck sake!"

Stiles turns, and easily kicks down a piece of blackened wood from the corner of the building. The whole structure groans slightly, but it doesn't fall, although it looks like one gust of wind could send the whole thing crashing down. 

"Stiles, buddy calm -"

"No Scott. I will not calm down! Can't we catch a fucking break!"

"I assume this is about the garden?" A calm and clear voice says, breaking through Stiles' anger. 

Deaton had arrived. 

"Scott, can you taken everyone back to the loft?" Derek says, nodding back towards the way they had come. "Peter and Parrish should be there by now."

Scott looks ready to argue, but Stiles just nods his head, seeing his friends torn expression. "It's okay man. I just needed to hit something. I kinda feel better already."

Scott smiles slightly at that, before looking over at Derek, "Be careful. Both of you." The young man adds, looking back towards his friend.

Stiles watches as Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Scott climb up the incline back into the heart of the Preserve, as Deaton begins to climb down the slope. "Lydia and Jackson?" The man questions, as he reaches Stiles and Derek.

"They're with Allison and her Dad."

"Yes, I thought they'd want to be involved." Deaton replies, looking pleased. "You did the right thing by calling them."

"Did I?" Derek questions, as Stiles gaze rapidly goes between the two men. 

"Derek, sometimes our enemies can become our allies."

"Erm, since when is Allison an enemy?" Stiles questions, and Deaton finally turns and acknowledges him.

He smiles warmly, "Stiles, good to see you awake."

"Thanks." Stiles replies, his annoyance mostly gone now. "You here to help?"

"I'm here to do what I can." Deaton replies, annoyingly cryptic. As per usual. 

Stiles turns to Derek then, "Why didn't you want Allison and her Dad involved? Isn't she pack?"

Derek sighs, and Stiles realises then how tired the Alpha looks. He wonders whether he had got any sleep last night. It didn't look like it.

"The Argents don't work alone, Stiles. They have Hunter allies that they work with. I didn't want to call them in unless absolutely necessary." Derek looks over at Deaton, who inclines his head, almost like a nod. "The last thing we need, on top of everything, is newly turned werewolves running around near trigger hungry hunters."

Stiles gulps. "They wouldn't -"

"No, not under the Argents command." Derek answers, and Stiles is pleased to hear the certainty in his voice. "But still, I don't like the idea of Hunters running though the Preserve. Even with the Argents."

"Because it's your territory?"

Derek nods. "Think of it as strangers being in your bedroom. It feels, wrong. And then give those strangers weapons."

Stiles huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, I've got no idea what that's like."

Derek frowns, looking ready to argue that statement, but Deaton clears his throat. Stiles had almost forgotten he was there. 

"You wanted to talk about Marin?"

"Yes." Derek answers, crossing his arms over his chest. "She was here. She saw Stiles and didn't do anything to help him."

Deaton's eyes widen, and Stiles can tell that the shock is genuine. 

"She's your sister isn't she?" Stiles questions, although he's pretty such he already know's the answer to that question. 

"I'm sorry, Stiles." 

Well, Stiles hadn't been expecting to hear that. "Why are _you_ sorry? She's your sister, not you."

"I knew she was here. I knew she was back in Beacon Hills, and I didn't say anything." Deaton replies, looking over towards Derek with an apologetic expression. 

"You don't owe us anything, Alan. You're not the Emissary anymore."

"No, but I made a promise to your mother. And I intend to keep it."

Derek nods, before murmuring a quick, "Thank you."

Stiles though, doesn't feel like forgiving anyone that quickly. 

"This doesn't mean she's innocent in all this." The young man insists. "She may have not been the one holding a gun up to my head, but she was working with the guy who was."

"Stiles, we haven't excused her. Don't worry, she's not going to get away with this." Derek growls, and even Deaton seems to agree. 

He sighs, an annoyed expression on his weathered face. "My sister has the infuriating habit of tending to do the wrong thing, but with good intentions."

"That doesn't stop what's she doing from being the wrong thing! Harris could have killed me! He was going to kill me! Before Parrish swooped in." Stiles frowns then, and reaches up to run a hand through his unruly hair. "I still don't really understand what happened there."

"Neither do we."

"What?" Derek questions, clearly thinking that Deaton would have an answer to that.

The man always seemed to have an answer for everything. 

"How did he even get involved?" Stiles questions. "I know he's a cop but ..." He trails off then, looking between Derek and Deaton. 

"We were at your house, looking over some maps with the Sheriff. We were trying to figure out where you could be."

"Okay ..." Stiles says, after Derek is quiet for a moment. 

"Parrish suddenly got this weird look in his eyes. He ignored us all, and just walked out of the front door."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Not a word."

"That's weird." Stiles says, and Derek nods in agreement. 

"Parrish came to Beacon Hills in the hopes of finding out about himself and his, abilities, shall we say." Deaton says, "But right now he's agreed that his questions can wait. He's willing to help us."

"He already did." Stiles interjects. "Well, after I screamed at him for a while."

"Does he remember anything, Alan?" Derek questions, but Deaton is already shaking his head.

"It's as you said Derek, he remembers being at the Sheriff's house, and then facing you in the woods." 

Stiles nods, but then he realises there was still a rather large elephant in the room. Who also just so happened to be his Chemistry teacher ...

His life was weird. 

"And what about Harris?"

"He's not our biggest problem right now."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles questions, or more like yells in disbelief. "How is the guy going around kidnapping people not our biggest problem?!"

"You heard what happened, Alan. He held up a gun to Stiles' head." Derek adds, in a voice much calmer than Stiles' had been, although he can still hear the anger bubbling beneath it. "He would have killed him."

The last part is little more than a growl, and Stiles moves forward to take Derek's hand once again. 

"I'm not contesting that he's dangerous, or that we need to find him, but -"

"You want to find Marin first?" Derek questions, and Deaton nods. "To find out what's going on?"

"I think she'll talk. Harris though," Deaton frowns, before shaking his head. "That's unlikely.  _Very_ unlikely, considering what's happened." 

"But isn't Marin just like you? Can't she do what you can do?" Stiles asks, his voice lowering to a normal volume. "Isn't that dangerous?"

Deaton just shakes his head. "No. My sister may have some of my natural abilities, but she has not studied the occult as I have."

"So what's in it for her?" Derek questions, and Stiles can't help but wonder that himself. 

She hadn't even really appeared to like Harris. Working with him? Helping him? That just didn't seem right. 

"I don't know."

"The garden? Could that have been her?" Stiles asks, and Deaton looks sceptical, but concedes Stiles' point with a small nod. 

"She would certainly be aware of Wolfsbane, and it's properties, but actually growing the garden?" The man sighs then, and crosses his arms over his chest, in a stance similar to the one Derek usual takes when he's angry. "It would take someone with extensive chemistry and botany knowledge -"

"Harris." Stiles interrupts.

Now it was starting to make sense. Harris was the brains (and also apparently the guy who did the kidnapping and threatening) but that still didn't explain what Marin was doing, and why she was connected. 

"Yes, he'd have been the one to cultivate the wolfsbane." Deaton continues, once again drawing Stiles back into the conversation. "The plants are hybrids and have been bred specifically for the purpose of effecting, but not killing werewolves, in various ways. No doubt before they were planted in the Preserve that would have been worked on in a laboratory."

"Okay, so we know what Marin and Harris are doing working together, but that doesn't explain _why_ they're working together."

Deaton and Derek share a look then, and Stiles has been on the outside of enough conversations to know when he's missing out on something unspoken.

"What?"

Deaton nods over towards Stiles, but doesn't move his gaze away from Derek. "Tell him."

"Tell me what?" Stiles insists again. He'd thought his days of being left out of supernatural related things were over.  

Derek huffs out a breath, before turning to his human companion. Deaton's face is grave, so Stiles knows whatever the Alpha is about to say, it's not good. "After the Hale fire, Harris was questioned by police." 

"What?" Stiles quickly glances between the two men, but neither or them appear to be in a joking mood. "Why? Was he involved?"

"We don't know." Derek answers, and Stiles can hear the anger beneath his words. "I was only a kid, so I wasn't told any of the details. But they told Laura. They talked to her about it just after he was questioned."

"And she told you?"

Derek smiles then, and it's a fond expression. Stiles can't help but smile along with him. "Yeah, of course. Laura always did like breaking the rules."

Stiles is sure he would have really liked Laura. 

"Okay, so, maybe I can ask my Dad about Harris? See if the station still has any record of his interview?" Derek and Deaton nod, and Stiles takes that as them accepting his idea. "And then we need a plan to figure out where the -" Stiles cuts himself off then, noticing the strange looks Deaton and Derek were sending him. He frowns. "Why are you both looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for me to tell you what to do next? Like I'm in charge ..."

Stiles can see the beginnings of a smile on Deaton's lips, but Derek just sighs in exasperation, before looking heavenwards. 

"Well, you are the Emissary."

"Wait, I am?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "I thought we'd already established that."

"No, I mean, that's it?" Stiles questions, genuinely confused for a moment. "I'm just made The Emissary? There's no weird induction ceremony? Blood sacrifice?"

Deaton actually laughs at that, and Stiles swears he'd never heard that sound from the man's mouth before. He shakes his head, before sharing a quick look of amusement with Derek. "No, Stiles. There's no ceremony, or blood sacrifice."

"Huh." Stiles replies, pouting slightly. "Well, that kinda sucks. I was kinda hoping for a party."

"After all this is over, I'll buy you a pizza." Derek says, and Stiles' eyes widen at the mere mention of food. 

"And curly fries?"

Derek smiles at Stiles fondly, "Sure, Stiles. And curly fries." 


	28. Chapter 28

**Thursday 28th April**

"You sure you got everything you need?"

Stiles quickly pulls his backpack onto his legs, and gives it a rapid shake. His father rolls his eyes fondly at his son, before turning back to the road.

"I think so," The young man replies, as he listens to the bags contents rapidly rattling around. He opens one of the main pockets, and quickly flicks through some of the items he had all but stuffed into the bag that very same morning. "Some clothes, my toothbrush, school books ..." He trails off then, as he looks up and notices his father's down turned expression. "Dad, I'll be fine." Stiles says reassuringly, closing the bag. "I'm only going to be there for a few days. Probably even less than that, actually. I'll be back before you know it. Hopefully." The young man adds, knowing that his stay with Derek was depending on them actually finding Marin and Harris. 

Stiles smiles then, but his father still looks less than amused. 

"Hopefully. Yeah..." The Sheriff replies, with a grimace.

"Think of it this way, it'll give me and Isaac time to work on our assignment together without getting distracted." Stiles offers, thinking that the idea of him doing schoolwork will appease his father.

No such luck though. 

The Sheriff just glares out the front window, his eyes hard and his lips pulled into a thin line. "You mean the one that  _Harris_ assigned you?" The man replies, all but spitting the name. "Seriously, Stiles?"

Oops, Stiles hadn't thought of that.

"Erm ... never mind." The young man replies, with a forced smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. The conversation had definitely taken a turn for the worse. Before Stiles could think of a way to change the rapidly deteriorating conversation however, his father speaks, and his voice is grave. 

"You shouldn't have to move out." The Sheriff says, his voice a low rasp. "Even if it is only for a few days. I should be able to protect you in your own home."

Now it's Stiles' turn to grimace. "Dad -"

"Don't, Stiles." The Sheriff interrupts, and Stiles can immediately recognise the change from easygoing Dad to worried father. Stiles gulps involuntarily. The Sheriff catches his sons expression, and clears his throat awkwardly, before speaking once again. "I'm still kinda mad at you, you know."

Stiles can tell that his father is trying to change the conversation. The young man jumps onto the new topic eagerly. 

"Yeah I know." Stiles replies, with a sigh. "But I was trying to protect you." The Sheriff nods, seemingly in agreement. "And anyway, how exactly was I supposed to start the werewolves are real conversation? You would have sectioned me!"

The Sheriff huffs out a laugh, and Stiles is pleased to hear it. "I don't know." The man concedes with a smirk. "Maybe you could have just gotten Scott and Derek to shift? That probably would have done it."

"That would have given you a heart attack!" Stiles exclaims, and he's only half joking. "Trust me on this, I'm speaking from experience..."

Stiles still remembers the first time he had seen Scott half shifted, his eyes burning gold, and his teeth elongated into fangs. Granted, his friend was also trying to kill him, so that put a whole dampener on the situation, but still. That shit was scary. 

"I'm not mad about that fact that you didn't tell me about all this," The Sheriff waves his hand then, in a vague gesture "supernatural stuff. I understand why you didn't." Stiles looks over at the Sheriff, the surprise clear on his face. "But I'm mad you didn't tell me about Derek, and what was going on with you while you weren't speaking to Scott. You weren't doing well for a while there, son."

"Yeah, I know Dad. I'm sorry." Stiles says, apologising yet again.  

Stiles sighs, and looks out the car window with a frown. He had to admit, he probably could have skipped over the supernatural stuff, and told his Dad about Derek and hanging out with him in the Preserve. At the very least he could have told his Dad how he was feeling kinda isolated. 

He hadn't though, and it was too late to go back now. 

"I called the school while you were packing your things." The Sheriff says suddenly, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little bit tighter than necessary. "They've excused you until Monday."

"Okay, good. That's good." Stiles replies, albeit distractedly. "One less thing to worry about." 

He hadn't even really thought about school that much. Not since one of his teachers had tried to kill him ... 

"They think you're sick, but Melissa's said she can get you a note from the hospital for when you go back, so there shouldn't be a problem."

Stiles nods, before pushing his backpack back into the foot well, and off his lap. "Yeah, she can get a note. No problem."

The Sheriff raises an accusing eyebrow at that.

"I know she can get notes, because she's done it for Scott and Isaac, but not for me! She's never done it for me!"

"She's excused Scott from school? And Isaac?" The Sheriff questions, surprise clear in his voice. 

Stiles nods. "There's been a few, _instances_ ," Stiles can't stop the sarcasm drip into his voice on that last word, "and Scott was too hurt to go to school. Don't worry, he can heal really quickly." Stiles adds, noting his father's expression. "But it would still have raised a lot of questions if he had turned up to school with a massive rip -"

"Please, stop." The Sheriff demands, just as Stiles had been demonstrating one of the many injury's Scott had received, using his hand as a make shift set of claws. "I really don't want to think about all the dangerous situations you boys have been involved in."

"And girls." Stiles adds, and he's sure Lydia and the others would be pleased that he interjected that. "Erica's a Beta too, so she's pretty much involved in everything. And Allison -"

"I know, Stiles. I didn't mean ..." The Sheriff runs a hand through his greying hair, and sighs. "I meant, thinking about you and Scott..." Stiles opens his mouth to interrupt, but his father just keeps going. "You two ... God, Stiles, you're my family. I really don't like ..."

"I know, Dad. I get it." Stiles replies, when his father just sighs again. 

"So, this is why you and Scott stopped talking for a while?"

"Yeah." The Sheriff gives his son a look then, and Stiles knows that means, _keep talking, that didn't answer my question_. "He didn't tell me when the pack was doing things, like hunting Rogues, because he wanted to keep me safe. 'I'm only human' was the typical excuse. Which I call bullshit on."

"Language."

"Sorry." Stiles apologises, before continuing. "Sure, Allison's a Hunter, but Lydia isn't. Don't get me wrong, I get -"

"He _was_ being pretty selfish. Just thinking of you when he needed you for something."

Stiles whips his head around to his companion quickly, and huffs out a laugh. "I figured you'd agree with Scott?"

"I do, to an extent." His father replies, and at Stiles's frown, and Sheriff continues. "He was looking out for you, because you're human, and he didn't want you to get hurt because you can't heal like they can. And Allison at least has had some training in all this?" Stiles nods, hearing the slight questioning tone in his father's voice. "As your father I can't really argue against that."

Stiles sighs loudly, but he does have to concede his fathers point. "Yeah, I understand that."

"But he also didn't want you getting hurt, because it would be on his conscious."

"How -"

"Stiles, c'mon." The Sheriff interjects. "You being in any situation with the pack, good or bad, would be because of Scott. Without him, you wouldn't even know about all this stuff."

"Technically, it was Peter's fault, not Scott. He'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The Sheriff grumbles under his breath at that, and it sounds so much like a growl that Stiles can't help but smirk. Had his father being hanging around Derek? It sounded like the Alpha was rubbing off on him.

"Can I shoot him?"

It takes Stiles a few seconds to realise that his father was talking about Peter, and not Derek. "Yeah." Stiles answers easily, with a noncommittal shrug. "He'd heal."

"And if I don't want him to heal?"

Stiles turns quickly, his face a mask of shock, but his father is smiling. The young man rolls his eyes at his fathers sudden sense of dark humour. 

"Peter's not like he was." The young man argues automatically, and for a split second he wonders where that particular opinion had come from. 

"Do you trust him?" Stiles's father questions, and Stiles tilts his head to the side, thinking. 

"Yes?"

The Sheriff rolls his eyes at his son's answer. "Stiles, that didn't exactly sound like you actually trust him. It sounded like you want to trust him, but don't."

"Okay, then yes. Yes I trust him."

"Well that's enough for me. And if Derek trusts him, then he must be doing something right, even after what happened with Scott." His father replies, as he turns his car down onto a quieter street. They were getting closer to the Loft, but still had a while to go. "But you should know, I've spoken to Chris about all this."

Oh shit.

"Really?" Stiles questions, attempting to keep his voice neutral. "Chris Argent?"

The Sheriff rolls his eyes. "Yes, Chris Argent. The ... what do you guys call him? A Hunter?" Stiles nods. "Just making sure I've got some backup. It's a habit."

Stiles smiles. "That's a pretty good habit to have, Dad."

"I know." The Sheriff turns to his son then, a serious expression back on his face. "But we were talking about Scott."

Stiles sighs. This conversation was once again getting into rough territory. 

Huh. Territory. Because ... werewolves. Stiles smirks at his own joke, but his father just waits, his expression one of amusement more than annoyance. Clearly he's used to his son's constantly drifting and distracted mind. 

"I don't think he gets that I feel, _felt_ ," Stiles corrects. "the same way about him than he does about me. I don't like the fact that he's out there, without me, doing stupid wolfy things. I know he can heal," The young man adds, noting his fathers expression. "and I know he's not totally on his own, but he's still my best friend, and I worry about him. Why doesn't he get that?"

The Sheriff smiles fondly. "I think that's the first time you've called him your best friend since you told me he went on that trip, and didn't invite you."

Stiles was still annoyed about that ... 

"It is." Stiles concedes. "But I won't be calling him that to his face for a while, either. I'm gonna let him stew. Besides, he thinks that I'm just mad at him because I'm not pack. But that wasn't the problem."

"Well, what was the problem?"

Stiles stops for a moment then, watching a women and her son as they walk down the pavement holding hands. He was surprised that normal families seemed to live near Derek on the outside of Beacon Hills. Weirdly, Stiles had been expecting more supernatural creatures to be the Alpha's neighbours. Maybe a witch, and a troll, a fairy ...

"Stiles?"

Oh yeah, conversation with his Dad. 

"It wasn't just 'pack related supernatural stuff' that I wasn't invited to." Stiles begins to answer, his voice quieter than it had been before. "He wouldn't even tell me when they were just hanging out, or taking a trip. Doing _human_ stuff. That's hardly acting like a best friend. They'd only talk to me if they needed some research doing." Stiles sighs, and leans his head back onto his seat with a dull thud. "He even stopped leaving a spot for me at lunch in school. I wasn't in the pack, so ..." Stiles waves his hand in dismissal, but the Sheriff just nods.

"You weren't in the pack, so you weren't in the group?"

Stiles grimaces. "Yeah." 

"And now that's changed?" The Sheriff questions, curiosity clear in his voice. 

"I guess."

"Because of Derek?"

Stiles isn't sure whether now was the right time to mention him being the new Emissary. He felt that was definitely a sit-down-at-the-diner-over-a-stack-of-pancakes-a-foot-high conversation. Instead, he settles with a shrug. 

"I know how old he is." The Sheriff grumbles under his breath, and Stiles can't help but roll his eyes. 

"Yeah, he's practically a senior citizen."

"Stiles ..."

The young man sighs once again. "I know, Dad. Trust me, of all the people in Beacon Hills, I think me and Derek were the most surprised about all this. But -"

"You can't choose who you fall in love with." 

Stiles blinks. He swears for a moment that his heart has stopped beating. His father turns, apparently concerned about his son's silence, and gasping breaths, but Stiles just begins to wave his hands around erratically. 

"Wha - ... who mentioned" Stiles flusters, and he know's his face is burning. "... love?! That's ... pfft ..."

"Stiles ..."

"Okay, yes. Fine. You win." Stiles exclaims with an almighty sigh, before reaching up, and basically smacking his hands over his face. "I'm totally head over heels. Enraptured. Enamoured ..."

"I get it, son." The Sheriff replies with a laugh, ending Stiles tirade. "But the important thing is, are you happy?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm really happy." And Stiles knows that his happiness is probably written all over his face. He's smiling so widely at just the thought of Derek that he starts to worry he looks like a madman. 

A man walking his dogs looks into the car with a frown. Stiles raises his hand in a quick wave. 

"Good." Stiles's father replies, with a firm nod. "But I'm still going to talk to him about this. Maybe not right now, but eventually."

Stiles smirks. "Wouldn't be doing your job as awesome father and even awesomer Sheriff if you didn't."

The Sheriff laughs, before nodding his head in agreement. "Exactly."

The two men sit in silence for a while, and Stiles looks out of the window and watches the world past by. Yesterday had been a blur of deep conversations with his father, planning meetings with the pack and exploring the Preserve with Derek. Deaton was still fascinated with with the place Stiles had been taken to, sure that there must have been some sort of magic involved. Stiles wasn't so sure himself, but he hadn't argued with the man, who clearly had a knowledge of magic that he didn't. Stiles was beginning to grow tired of arguing. He and Scott had managed to have a quick conversation, with the Alpha mainly exclaiming about how awesome it was that Stiles was, _something_ , and promising that they were definitely going to hang out with Deaton to find out what was going on with him.

Stiles can't help but feel a little sad that it took his eyes glowing a bright green for Scott to invite him to hang out. 

"Stiles," The Sheriff begins, and the young man turns his head to once again face his father. "I know all this is, pretty insane -"

"Are you kidding?" Stiles interrupts, a sarcastic smirk on his face. "It's just another day in Beacon Hills."

"For you maybe ..." The Sheriff grumbles, before he sighs once again. "But if you ever need time off, or to get away ..."

The man trails off, and Stiles frowns in confusion. "Are you giving me an out?"

"Yes."

Stiles stops then, and thinks to himself. Leaving Beacon Hills? The young man knows that his father would leave immediately if Stiles asked him to. He'd also stay if Stiles asked him to. But that was a conversation for another time.

"I'm okay, Dad. For now at least."

The Sheriff nods, seemingly pleased, before growing serious once again. "Just, please don't think this is an excuse to let your grades slip. Or for you to isolate yourself again. You're doing really well, son. I just ... I don't want that to change."

"It won't Dad, I promise." Stiles replies, and he really does mean it. He also knows that by 'doing really well' his father wasn't just talking about school.

Stiles hadn't had a panic attack in a while. He was happy, and wanted to keep it that way. 

And his grades slipping? As if he was going to allow Lydia to beat him in AP English. 

"Okay." The Sheriff says, apparently pleased. 

"I'm a good multi-tasker." Stiles explains, with a smirk, "Managing schoolwork, werewolves and wolfsbane poisoning is my jam."

The Sheriff rolls his eyes once again, but his next comment is cut short when the car pulls up next to a large concrete building. The older man nods in it's general direction, before turning towards his son. 

"Is this it?"

"Yeah, this is it."

The Sheriff parks his cruiser silence, before climbing out of the car in an easy motion. Stiles clumsily grabs his bag, before following his father. They both look up at the looming building, sharing a smile, before making their way down the concrete pavement to the front door of Derek's building. 

"If you need anything, call me at the Station. I'll be there with Parrish and Chris." 

"Chris Argent? He's helping us as well?" Stiles questions, pulling his backpack onto his bag. "I thought he'd be busy with ... whatever Hunters do."

"Yeah, well he's making time to help us." The Sheriff replies, and Stiles can hear the sarcasm. Like father like son. "I never thought I'd actually say these words, _I sound mad but_ , it's nice to have another parent to talk about werewolves too."

Stiles can't help but laugh at that. "I can imagine." He frowns then, as the two men near the large wooden door. "What about Melissa?"

"She's at work, but she knows what's going on." The Sheriff replies, missing Stiles' meaning, but the young man is pleased to hear that she's going to be helping out as well. "We'll be keeping in touch with her about what's going on, and she'll let us know if anything happens at the hospital."

"How's Parrish?"

"He's ... shaken." The Sheriff answers, pausing with his son before entering the building. "Although he's denying it. I don't think anything like that has happened to him before."

"Yeah, me neither." His father doesn't seem to be amused by his comment, and so Stiles just barrels on, ignoring the disapproving look. "Maybe I should send him something as a thank you?" Stiles jests, although he's only mostly joking. "Muffin basket? Some flowers?"

The Sheriff looks at his son as if he's just spoken in a dead language. 

"Stiles Stilinski, Parrish saved my son's life. If you think I haven't already given him a bottle of the best whiskey we own, then I'm insulted."

Stiles smirks at that. "Which one? The Jack Daniel's?"

The Sheriff rolls his eyes at his son's sarcasm, before answering. "Let's just say I could have probably bought a new car with it."

Stiles whistles. "Nice."

The young man turns to pull open the door to the building, exposing the rickety elevator, and it's large rusting metal door. 

His father frowns. 

"Don't say it." Stiles grumbles, as he strolls into the elevator. 

"I didn't say anything!" The Sheriff protests, as he follows his son, and helps him slide the door shut. 

"You were thinking it. What were you expecting exactly? A mansion?" Stiles tries to seep as much sarcasm into his words as possible, letting his father know he's only joking. Although he is shocked at the sudden compelling need he feels to defend Derek's home. 

They were such a couple. 

"I don't know what I was expecting." The Sheriff replies honestly, before folding his arms, as the elevator begins to rise. "Maybe some sticks and twigs? Boulders? A deer carcass?"

Stiles throws his head back, and laughs so loudly he's sure even the nearby human neighbours would hear him.

"God, I love you Dad."

* * *

Much to everyone's surprise, it had actually been Peter's idea for Stiles to move into the loft with Derek and Isaac. At least while everything was going on. Peter had his own apartment downtown, or at least that's what the man had told everyone, but he had the sense to not suggest Stiles moving in with him. No matter what was going on, and the fact it would have been a temporary arrangement, Stiles could never see the Sheriff agreeing to that. Actually, Stiles thinks that no one would have agreed to that.

After hugging his father goodbye, Stiles dumps his bag down by the coffee table, before siting down on the floor next to it in a heap. He listens to Derek and his father's muffled conversation behind the closed elevator door as it descends, and can't help but wince as the voice's begin to get louder, despite how they were getting further away.

The Sheriff had wanted to have a conversation with Derek. A private one.

Stiles assures himself once again that if his Dad shot Derek, the Alpha wouldn't die. That thought was the only thing that had stopped him from jumping into the elevator with them both. 

"Well, that's interesting ..."

Stiles rests his head in his hands, and tries to ignore Derek's Uncle as he clucks and gasps, no doubt making noises at different points of Derek and his fathers conversation. As the man begins to chuckle, Stiles growls.

Peter actually puts his hand over his heart in a mocking gesture. "I can't believe -" 

Stiles head shoots up, and he glares at Peter from where the man was lounging on the sofa. "Shut up. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Peter raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "You sure?"

Stiles grits his teeth together, trying to come up with a response that didn't involve the words 'dick' or 'fuck you'. Before he has a chance to speak however, the elevator doors open once again, and Derek climbs out.

Alive.

Stiles actually let's out a breath, and Peter laughs. 

"He's gone to the station. Said you should call him later." The Alpha tells Stiles, and the young man nods. Derek turns to Peter then, a frown etched onto his face. "Were you listening?"

A scoff. "Of course." Peter answers, not a scrap of embarrassment in his voice. "It was an interesting conversation."

Derek growls lowly, before stalking over to the kitchen.

Stiles' curiosity is raging, and Peter must sense it, as he snickers as Stiles wrenches open his backpack, and pulls out a pencil and a notebook. 

"Stop it." The young man hisses, as he begins to scrawl down some notes for one of his classes.

 _Not_ his Chemistry class.  

"Stop what?"

Stiles actually rolls his eyes at the innocent tone of voice Peter uses. "Stop annoying Derek, stop annoying me, and stop being creepy."

"I'm Derek's Uncle, annoying him is part of the job description. Annoying you is a perk." Peter replies, with a easy smile on his face. "And as for being creepy, you'll have to be more specific."

Stiles throws down the notebook onto the cool stone floor, just as a kettle starts to whistle from the kitchen. "Listening to other peoples  _private_ conversations. That's creepy."

"Perk's of being a werewolf, Stiles." The older man answers, before inspecting his nails. "Being able to listen in to private conversations. Don't give me that look. You were dying to know what they were saying."

"Fine, I was." Stiles concedes, much to Peter's amusement. "But that doesn't mean -"

"Stiles, when you grow up a werewolf, you learn to use your abilities, and  _listen_  even when people don't want you to, or even need you to." Peter replies, and Stiles is surprised to note that it sounded almost as if the man was defending himself. "Derek does the same thing."

"I doubt Derek -" Stiles cuts himself off then, upon seeing the expression on Peter's face. He almost looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh. "Is that how he knew I was in the Preserve?" Stiles asks, his voice little more than a whisper. "He could  _hear_ me. How is that possible?"

Peter chuckles, and leans further back onto the sofa, looking alarmingly like a King lounging on his throne. "You sound like a heard of elephants, Stiles. You're impossible to miss."

"Derek!" Stiles calls, uselessly. He knows the Alpha will be able to hear him without raising his voice. 

Stiles hears the Alpha sigh, but he doesn't emerge from the kitchen. The human strains his neck to try and see him, but Derek doesn't move from where he was out of Stiles' line of vision. "Peter, stop antagonising him."

"I'm bored, Nephew." Peter drawls, leaning his head back against his seat. "Besides, I'm being a distraction."

"Distracting me from what?" Stiles questions, and the young man notices then that Derek has gone deathly quiet.

"From you thinking about how you were almost killed."

In the kitchen, a mug smashes. 

Peter doesn't smile, or laugh, this time. His face is grave.

"Yeah, well thanks. Mission accomplished." Stiles murmurs, turning back towards his notebook and pencil. "I wasn't thinking about it, until  _you_ just mentioned it."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Stop being childish."

"You stop being childish." Stiles mimics, childishly. 

"Contrary to popular opinion Stiles," Peter begins, pointedly looking over towards his Nephew for a moment, before turning back to the young man on the floor in front of him, "I do actually care whether you live or die."

Stiles scoffs. "Since when?"

"I'll admit, it is a pretty recent development."

Stiles places his notebook and pencil down on the floor in front of him, sensing that Peter was not going to allow him to get any work done. The werewolf just smiles then, and nods down to the pencil that Stiles had neglected.

"Can you still do your little trick?"

Without looking down, Stiles concentrates, and begins to hear the whirr of the wood against the stone floor. He tries not to let the smugness show on his face. 

"That's a useful little party trick." Peter drawls sarcastically. "But it's not going to be that much use next time someone points a gun at you."

A warning growl comes from the kitchen, but neither Stiles nor Peter take any notice.  

"I can also make it go through your eye socket." Stiles all but growls, as the pencil spins even faster. 

Peter actually looks impressed at that. "Well, that does actually sound useful."

"Are you hungry?"

Stiles looks up at Derek, who had silently emerged from the kitchen. The man holds two steaming cups of coffee in his hands, and has a questioning look on his face. Stiles reaches up to take one, stopping the pencil as he does. He mutters a thank you, before taking a quick sip. "I'm fine, thanks. This is fine." The young man replies to the Alpha's question, nodding down at his coffee. 

He remembered how he took it. 

Derek nods, before sitting on the floor opposite Stiles, purposely avoiding the pencil in between them. 

"Are you working on something?"

Stiles nods, and spins the notebook around so it was facing Derek. "I'm just writing some notes about ..." Stiles trails off, looking up at Peter with a frown.

Derek's Beta rolls his eyes. "Stiles, I'm not going to -"

"He know's Stiles." Derek interjects, nodding over to his Uncle. "About you talking to Deaton about the fire."

Stiles frowns. "How?"

Peter sighs, and stands from the sofa. "We talk to each other, Stiles. We're family."

Derek actually winces as his Uncle walks into the kitchen, and gives Stiles an apologetic look. "After you told me what Deaton had said about his apprentice, and Marin, I told Peter. He was older than me, and he was actually there, so I thought he might remember more."

"Derek it's fine. You talk to Peter, and I talk to Deaton." The young man shrugs. "We each have a creepy, 'know's too much', 'are they good or evil?' person to talk to, and that's awesome."

Peter growls from the kitchen, as Derek laughs. 

Suddenly, Derek's phone buzzes, and so Stiles turns back to his notebook whilst the Alpha stands to retrieve it from the coffee table. As Peter re-enters the room, he looks over Stiles' shoulder, reading his notes. 

"What's Ranunculaceae?" The man questions, and Stiles laughs.

"You mean, I actually know something you don't? How is that possible?" Peter looks un-amused at Stiles' sarcasm, as he sits back onto the sofa. The young man rolls his eyes, before explaining. "It's the family of plants Wolfsbane comes from. They're-"

"He's at the school."

Stiles and Peter turn to look at Derek instantly. The Alpha had turned pale, and Stiles actually blanches. 

"Who?" Peter questions, all mocking and humour gone from his voice now. 

"Harris."

Stiles stands from the floor so quickly, he almost faints. 

"Isaac just texted me and the rest of the Pack." Derek continues, putting the phone back onto the coffee table. "He said he's just walked into class like there was nothing going on. He even asked if anyone knew where Stiles was."

Peter growls, before letting out a cold laugh. "He's brave. I'll give him that."

"Or stupid." Stiles argues, and Peter inclines his head, as if in agreement. 

Derek just frowns. "I thought you told your Dad what happened?"

"I did! He know's everything!"

"Then why hasn't he arrested him?"

"I didn't ..."

Stiles trails off then, knowing exactly why his father hadn't arrested Harris. They'd spoken about this at length after the Pack had left the Stilinski house. They didn't have enough evidence, and they'd both agreed that Harris would have gone into hiding, and so wouldn't be danger.

Clearly, they'd been wrong about that. 

"Stiles?" Derek questions again, his face stern. 

"I know it was him. I  _know_ it. But -"

"But what, Stiles?" Derek interrupts, his lip raising in a semblance of a snarl.

Stiles knows the Alpha's anger isn't directed at him, but he still takes a cautious step back. "I didn't see his face. And Parrish wasn't exactly aware of what was going on."

"What does that matter?" Peter questions, and Stiles can't help but sigh. 

"My Dad is doing this the 'law abiding' way. He needs witnesses. Actual proof. That's what he's looking for right now."

"And that's why Deaton wants to find Marin. She's a witness." Derek says, and Stiles is already nodding. 

"Yeah, exactly."

"So we're just going to let him roam free?" Peter questions, anger clear in his voice. "After everything that happened?"

"I trust the Sheriff." Derek interjects, and Stiles can't help but smile. "We're doing things his way." The Alpha's tone of voice leaves no room for argument. 

Peter though, doesn't seem to be as intimidated by Derek's 'Alpha voice' as Stiles. The man looks thoughtful for a moment, his hand actually coming up to rest on his chin, and Stiles know's that whatever the werewolf is about to say next, it's not going to be good.

"I could just rip his head off?"

Yeah, not good. 

"Not helpful." Stiles answers, with a shake of his head. He turns to Derek, about to speak to him, when he notices the Alpha's expression. "Stop looking like you agree with him!" The young man exclaims, before jabbing a finger accusingly in the older man's direction. "Now is not the time to starting agreeing with _him_!"

"Does anyone else have a better idea?" Peter questions, and Stiles looks heaven ward for a moment. 

"We're letting my Dad handle Harris."

"The Pack are in the same building as him, Derek. Isaac is in the same  _room_ as him! You can't be okay with this."

"I'm not." Derek growls, his eyes flashing red for a moment. Once again, Stiles is tempted to take a step back. 

"We can't just go around killing people when they do something wrong!" Stiles argues, waving a hand towards Peter, who seems to disagree with the young's man statement. "We have to -"

"I don't _have_ to do anything."

"That's not true." Derek interjects, turning his body to all but lean over his Uncle, who was still lounging on the sofa. "You _have_ to obey me."

Even with his back towards Stiles, the young man knows Derek must been half shifted. His spine is ramrod straight, and his shoulders are rising and falling rapidly with quick breaths. 

Peter just smirks. "Derek, I'm almost impressed. You look like an Alpha."

"I am the Alpha." Derek responds, his elongated teeth effecting his usual clear speech.

Stiles smiles proudly.  

"Fine, what's _your_ plan. Oh great Alpha." Peter drawls, waving a hand up towards his Nephew.

Derek shakes his head, almost as if to clear it, and when he speaks next his voice is entirely human. 

"We're going to help Deaton find Marin."

"And then what? You think she's just going to talk to us? Confess to everything?" Peter questions incredulously. 

"Maybe not to us," Derek concedes, gesturing to himself and his Uncle. "But she'll talk to Stiles."

"Why would she talk to me?"

"You're the Emissary, Stiles." Derek replies, his voice sure and clear. "This is what you do."

"Huh." Stiles replies, dumbly. "Any chance of you accepting my resignation?"

"She won't hurt you." Derek answers, pointedly ignoring Stiles' question.

"And how do you know that?" Peter questions before bringing his hands up to cross them over his broad chest. "She didn't help him before. For all we know that apology was just an act."

"She's doing all this for a reason, we just need to know the reason."

Peter rolls his eyes at that, and Stiles is so worried about the vague response given to Peter's question, that he doesn't even bother to side with Derek. 

"I'll ask again Nephew, what makes you think she's not going to hurt him?"

"I wouldn't put Stiles in danger." Derek responds, his voice dropping dangerously low. 

"You can't promise that. You can't promise that he won't be in danger." Peter replies, his own voice sounding not much more than a growl, as his eyes quickly flash blue. 

"Where has this sudden concern for my safety come from?" Stiles interjects, eager to stop the werewolf display. 

"You're my Emissary, whether I like it or not." Peter replies, and Derek actually nods, as if he is pleased with the declaration. "Your Pack, Stiles. We protect our Pack."

"Stiles only needs to say _one word_ to Marin, and she won't hurt him." Derek says, and the man sounds so sure that for a second Stiles isn't worried. "She'll listen to him, Peter. She just needs us to show her that we're not the enemy in all this."

"One word?" Stiles questions, and he can't keep the sarcasm from his voice. "What word would that be exactly? Please? Mercy?"

Derek's eyes flash, and Stiles has the common sense to snap his lips shut, and listen to his Alpha. 

"Laura." Derek growls, his eyes burning a blood red. "When she asks why you're there, or what you want, just say ... Laura."

"Well ..." Peter drawls, as he finally stands from the sofa, and claps his hands together. "This should be interesting."


	29. Chapter 29

**Friday 29th April**

"Stiles, you have to _concentrate_."

Stiles can't help but scoff at his new mentor's comment. As if he didn't know that he needed to concentrate? 

The young man opens his eyes then, before sighing in exasperation. He turns to give Deaton a unamused look, which the man mirrors.

"That's a little difficult for me right now, considering I have a captive audience." Stiles replies, before crossing his arms over his chest. "And I'm being intently stared at ..."

He pointedly looks over to a figure who was hanging back from the group, all of which were stood around the coffee table in Derek and Isaac's loft. The man in question was leaning near the large glass windows, but despite his casual stance, Stiles can sense the mans anxiety.

He can relate. Supernatural meetings always gave him anxiety too. 

"I can go." Parrish offers, already standing upright, and pointing towards the elevator shaft. "I don't want to distract -"

"There's no need for that, Jordan." Deaton replies easily, not even bothering to look in the Deputy's direction. "It is important that you be here. And besides, Stiles needs to get used to working under pressure. This will help him in the long run."

Parrish nods, and resumes leaning near the windows. 

"Fair enough," Stiles replies, with a roll of his eyes, before waving a hand around erratically above the maps that had been placed down in front of him. "But why does  _everyone_ need to be stood here with me? Is this a spell or some sort of group therapy session? Are we going to hold hands next?"

Isaac actually turns from the group then, and moves to sit on the sofa, giving Stiles some more space. The young man smiles gratefully at the young Beta, but then turns to frown at Alan, Derek and Peter, who all remained standing in a circle around the table. 

"Stiles ..." The young man can hear Deaton beginning to loose his patience. "You will have to get used to working with members of the pack on things like this, and working closely with them. Literally in some cases."

"He's being working with Derek pretty clo-"

Derek elbows his Uncle in the ribs before he can finish his sentence, and Stiles shoots the Alpha a grateful smile. 

"But still," Stiles continues, as Peter rubs his stomach with a childish pout on his face. "How am I supposed to concentrate like this?"

"Okay," Deaton concedes, "close your eyes again. We'll try something else."

Stiles doesn't close his eyes, and Alan raises an eyebrow, challenging.

"How do I know someones not going to punch me?" Stiles mutters childishly.

Derek sighs in exasperation, and moves away from the table. Isaac and Peter huff out an amused laugh, and Stiles turns to glare at them in turn. They were really no help. Parrish still chooses to remain silent and just watch all the drama from a distance, and Deaton ... he looked murderous.

Stiles was acting out, and he knew that, but he couldn't help it. They'd be stood there for two hours already, (it was getting dark) and the young man still hadn't managed to sense where Marin was. Deaton had claimed that it should be simple for Stiles, and all it really required was some concentration, and Stiles' Spark, whatever the Hell that was. But it wasn't working, and Stiles was getting annoyed. 

"Stiles, I understand your frustration," Alan begins, frustration clear in his own voice, "but this isn't going to work if you don't at least _try_."

"I have been trying!" Stiles exclaims, throwing his arms into the air. "What do you think I've been doing?!"

"You've been letting your mind wander."

At that, Stiles frowns in confusion. "Isn't that what I'm -"

"Just ..." Alan closes his eyes, and brings up a hand to rub against his bloodshot eyes. Uh oh, now he was getting really annoyed. "Just think about Marin.  _Only_ Marin. Try to clear everything else out of your head."

"Fine."

Stiles closes his eyes, for real this time, and for a moment he just listens to the people surrounding him. Peter still sounded like he was holding back a laugh, whilst Isaac seemed to be shifting around on the sofa, apparently trying to get comfortable. It was distracting. 

"Isaac, sit still." Derek grumbles, and the shifting immediately stops. 

Stiles keeps his eyes closed, but can't help but smile. Sometimes it seemed like Derek was the grumpy Dad of the group. Wait, did that make him the Mom? 

"Stiles ..." Deaton drawls, his words little more than a exasperated sigh. 

Oh yeah, right. He was supposed to be concentrating. 

He thinks about the last time he had seen Marin, and his heart immediately speeds up. There was definitely something interesting going on with her and Harris. She hadn't looked scared of Adrian, but she did seem to be ... hesitant? It was like she really didn't want anything to do with him, but yet, there she was ... working with him. Helping him even. She had been screaming at him during the fire, demanding that he got out of there, leaving Stiles to his grisly death.

She'd tried to save Harris, but not him? 

His heart continues to beat rapidly, and he know's that the werewolves in the room must be able to hear it. Stiles tries to calm it, knowing that he was surely getting a few concerned expressions by now, but the beating just grows more rapid. 

"Stiles?"

"He's fine, Derek. It's working."

Stiles can hear Derek and Deaton talking, but it sounded as if there were underwater ...

"Okay Stiles, that's perfect." Deaton says, his voice sounding even more distant, almost echoing. "Now, find Marin."

If Stiles hadn't been concentrating so hard on keeping his face neutral, he would have scoffed at the useless instruction. However, as soon as the words leave Deaton's mouth, Stiles  _feels_ something. It's like hearing a distant buzzing, and Stiles can't help but investigate.

His fingers begin to tingle, and his fluttering heart leaps up into his throat.

He opens his eyes then, sure that feeling heart palpation's and pins and needles in his hands and arms was not what Deaton had in mind, but Deaton was no longer stood in front of him.

In fact, no one was stood in front of him, and the table had disappeared.  

Stiles was no longer in the loft.

He quickly looks around his new location, careful to be quiet, and notices that he is in some some sort of old barn. In the Preserve? 

Suddenly, a small crash sounds, and Stiles whips his head around in the general direction of the noise. 

"Holy shit," Stiles breath's out, watching the young woman before him with wide eyes, who seemed to be oblivious to his sudden presence. "I'm totally a magical badass." 

* * *

Marin doesn't look worried to find that a young man had just _magically appeared_ in front of her. Instead, she simply sighs, and places down the small wooden crate she had been holding. Stiles has another quick look around, and notices a small car at the other side of the old wooden building. It was running, so he'd have to be quick with his interrogation, and hope that Derek and the others would be quick as well, at finding where he had magically transported to. He still didn't know how he'd managed to get here, but he was almost sure he wouldn't be able to do it again anytime soon. Now that he had Marin, he didn't want to loose her again.

The woman looks over to the car, and Stiles notices then that the drivers door was open. It looked like Marin had somewhere she wanted to go, and soon.  

"How did you find me?" Marin asks, her face a mask of boredom. 

"Tracking spell," Stiles answers, walking closely to the young woman, despite his instincts telling him he should be moving in the other direction. "courtesy of your brother."

It wasn't a lie, exactly. Deaton had said it was like a spell, but Stiles decided that it was probably best to keep his magical prowess to himself for now. Or at least, not tell the possible felon about it all. 

Although, considering he'd just  _teleported_ himself, Stiles can't help but wonder whether that's a moot point now. 

"Alan always did manage to keep two steps ahead of me." Marin sighs then, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why are you here, Stiles?" She asks casually, as if she were enquiring about the weather. 

Stiles smirks. "I thought I'd give you the opportunity to apologise. For real this time."

"Are you alone?"

Stiles lifts his shoulders in a shrug, trying to look casual. 

"For now I am."

Marin shakes her head then, and Stiles is surprised to note that she looks, almost disappointed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

"Hey, you and Harris kidnapped me, _from my own house_. I figured -"

"I had nothing to do with that, and you know it."

The woman sounds angry. Stiles takes note of that. 

"I know that you didn't know he planned to do it, and that just makes me think that there is a severe lack of communication between you two." Stiles replies, "I mean, how long does it take to tell someone you're going to kidnap the Sheriff's kid? Like, five minutes? Ten tops."

"Stiles, go home, and stay out of this."

"No can do." Stiles continues, pulling a apologetic expression, that is completely sarcastic. "See, your partner in crime kinda dragged me into this. Literally." Marin takes a deep breath, whilst Stiles just holds his hands up in a semblance of a shrug. "And now I'm involved."

"He's an idiot."

Stiles laughs then, and it's only half fake. "Finally! One thing we can agree on."

Marin shakes her head, a slight smile on her own face. Suddenly, her expression changes, and she reaches to pick up the crate that she had abandoned on the floor. She carries it over to a work bench, and begins to look through it's contents. Stiles just watches on, curious. 

"Stiles, this has nothing to do with you. Or Scott, or Derek ..." Marin says, breaking the awkward silence. She sighs once again, seeming exasperated, as if she were talking to a small unruly child. "Just stay out of this, and everyone will be fine."

"What's going on, Marin?"

"I don't have to tell you anyth-"

"Laura."

Stiles wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but it wasn't this. Marin suddenly looks furious. She clenches her fists, and slowly turns away from the bench. Stiles, despite feeling the overwhelming urge to gulp, or run away, stands his ground. He glares back at the young woman before him, feeling brave all of a sudden.

He was sure that Derek and the others would be looking for him.

He wasn't going to be alone for much longer.  

"What did you just say to me?"

"This all has something to do with Laura, doesn't it?"

Marin steps a tentative step forward, but Stiles doesn't move back. She cocks her head to the side, a gesture of curiosity. "What did my brother tell you?"

"Not much, but I'm a smart kid."

"Not that smart." Marin argues, and before Stiles can retort, she quickly turns back to the bench, and out of the wooden crate, the woman pulls a gun. She turns back to Stiles, the weapon held shakily in her hands.  "You shouldn't have come here Stiles."

"Just tell me what's going on." Stiles pleads, desperately trying to ignore the gun pointed at him. He was beginning to get deja vu. "You clearly have something planned with Harris, but the dude is a maniac! He would have shot me! And then you would have a murder to deal with. Trust me, murders mean a lot of paperwork. Not to mention the life sentence ..."

"You're a strange kid." Marin jests, but she doesn't lower the gun. 

Stiles can't help but smile at that. "And ... you're just realising that now?"

"Laura would have liked you." Marin replies, her voice low.

Stiles hears the slight crack in the woman's voice, and knows that she's trying not to cry. He's on to something. 

"I think I would have liked Laura."

As quickly as the smile appears on Marin's face, it disappears. 

"Do you know what happened?" Marin questions, still pointing the gun at the young man in front of her. "After the fire?"

"Not really." Stiles answers honestly.

He'd heard pieces of information from Derek, and Peter, and even Deaton, but he didn't know the full story. He didn't think anyone was going to have the full story, expect perhaps the people who'd been in the fire. 

Those poor people ... 

"They left without saying goodbye." Marin says suddenly, and Stiles snaps back to attention, knowing that the woman was talking about Laura. "As soon as everything was settled, Laura just packed up her things and took Derek to New York." Stiles nods. He knew that bit, Derek had told him. "She didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm sorry." Stiles replies, because he really was. "That must have been hard."

Marin chuckles slightly at that. "I thought I was supposed to be the guidance counsellor?"

Stiles can't help but smile himself. "Hey, a month ago I had no friends, and no Pack. Things change."

"Yeah, yeah they do." Marin concedes. Stiles is pleased to see the woman appears more relaxed, friendly even, but she still doesn't lower the gun. "Do you know why she came back?"

"She -" 

"It was for Peter." Marin answers, and now her voice morph's into one of rage. She hisses the eldest Hale's name, and Stiles can't help but flinch. "She wanted to take Peter back to New York, so he could live with her and Derek. Thought it would be too difficult or him to wake up in Beacon Hills, with everyone dead."

"Derek told me there were all really close. Before -"

"Before the fire." Marin interrupts, and Stiles wonders whether she knew he was going to say 'before they were killed' instead. "Yeah, they were. They were all really close."

"You loved Laura, didn't you?"

Stiles knows, as soon as the question leaves his mouth, that Marin did love Laura. That's why she had been so hurt when Laura left, and that ...

That would explain why she hated Peter. 

"Yes." Marin answers, tears beginning to well in her deep brown eyes. "Yes, I loved her." She takes a shaky breath, and Stiles is almost impressed and how quickly she composes herself. When she speaks again, her voice is almost normal. "When I heard she'd come back, I abandoned everything and decided to come back to Beacon Hills too. I wanted us to be together again." Marin waves the gun then, in a passive gesture. "You know the rest."

Stiles frowns at that. Did Marin think Derek had told her a lot about Laura? The Alpha rarely spoke about her, and Stiles could understand why. He still found it difficult to talk about his Mom. If he did, he'd have to use words like 'used to' and use the past tense.

That meant he'd have to accept that his Mom was in the past. He never wanted to do that.

"I don't -"

"Laura left her entire life, her home, she left _Derek,_ so she could come and help Peter." Marin interrupts, her voice growing louder in anger. "She did that so that she could come and save him. And do you know what she got? For all of that kindness? Do you know what she got, Stiles?"

He did know what happened. He'd found Laura after all. 

"Marin -"

"He killed her. He murdered his own Niece." Marin is crying now, but she still doesn't lower the gun. "He ... ripped her ... apart."

"He's -"

"Sorry?!" The woman exclaims, almost screams. "Do you really believe that Peter is sorry for what he did."

"Yes, I do."

Stiles doesn't know why he answers so quickly, and why he even thinks Peter is sorry. He hasn't really spoken to the man at length without someone else being there, and least of all about the Hale fire, and what happened after. In fact, Stiles purposely avoided mentioning it, and he believed Peter did as well.

Although, he had muttered angrily about a Molotov cocktail when Stiles had eaten his cereal that morning ... 

But he know's Peter is sorry for that. He has to be. 

"Then you're a bigger idiot than Derek." Marin continues, and she takes another few steps forward. "You don't just apologise for killing someone, Stiles. You don't just get to walk around, and act like nothing happened."

"Marin -"

"HE DOESN'T GET TO TAKE LAURA AWAY, AND THEN LIVE!" Marin takes a shaking breath, and Stiles takes a moment to calm his pounding heart. If Derek and Pack hadn't known where he was before, surely they'd know after that. The whole Preserve must have heard that. "He deserves to die. And he will."

"You want to kill Peter?"

And suddenly, everything clicks into place.

Marin was growing the wolfsbane, and working with Harris, so she could kill Peter. That didn't explain why Harris, or all people, was involved, but Stiles doesn't want to push his luck by asking too many questions. Especially not with someone holding a gun at him. 

"It's only fair. A life for a life." Marin murmurs, and Stiles is already shaking his head. 

So much for not pushing his luck ... 

"As the son of the Sheriff, I feel obligated to tell you that it really doesn't work like that."

"Werewolf politics." Marin retorts, with a shrug. "It's different. You wouldn't understand."

Stiles growls at that, and even Marin seems shocked by his response. "I really wish people would stop using the whole 'werewolves' thing as an excuse to do stuff. Especially bad stuff." The young man replies.

Marin just looks exasperated once again, as if she were annoyed that Stiles wasn't getting what she was trying to do, or say. But Stiles did get it, and he wasn't going to let it happen. 

If anyone got to kill Peter, it was Derek. Maybe Scott. Maybe even Lydia ... 

"Stiles, no one else is going to get hurt." Marin says slowly, as if Stiles was confused. "Just Peter."

"But -"

"I know what he did to Scott. And Lydia. I know what he offered to do to you." Marin continues, and Stiles wonders for a quick moment whether the woman had known that he had been thinking about Peter doing the very same things. "You know he deserves it, Stiles."

Stiles just shakes his head at that. 

"He's the only family Derek's got left."

This time, Marin doesn't sigh, but instead she smiles. "I think we both know that's not exactly true. Not anymore." 

That particular comment catches Stiles by surprise. How did everyone in Beacon Hills seem to know about his love life? Had he and Derek been that obvious?

They hadn't even had sex yet.

Stiles almost face palms at his own thought process.  _Don't think about having sex with Derek right now! Don't think about sex period while someone holds a gun at you!_

Stiles worries for a moment that he's become somewhat immune to being threatened. He blames Derek, and his growly threats to rip his throat out.

He's was never going to let that go ... 

"Where does Harris come into all this?" Stiles asks, mostly to distract himself, but also because Marin hadn't really mentioned him or his evil plot.

Marin shrugs, "That's not my story to tell."

"Well, as much as I'm enjoying this little meeting," Stiles very obviously looks at the gun Marin is _still_ holding in her shaking hands, "but I don't think Harris will be so forthcoming." 

"Well now, Stiles. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Stiles freezes, hearing Harris' voice emerge from behind him.

How had he not noticed someone sneaking up behind him? 

"What are you doing here? You were supposed -"

"You've been gone along time." Adrian interrupts, watching Stiles closely as he moves to stand next to Marin. "I wanted to make sure you weren't detained ..."

Stiles can't stop the wicked grin spread on his face as Harris stands in front of him in his normal outfit, the one he would teach in.

No one could argue that he was someone else know. He may as well been wearing a name tag.

Stiles had him. 

"Oh man, I've always wanted to say this to you ..." Stiles clears his throat, before turning back to his teacher. "Fuck. You."

Harris grits his teeth, and Stiles has to stop himself from doing a victory dance. That was one thing off his bucket list. 

"And  _this_ is who you were worried about? Him?" Adrian questions, waving a dismissive hand towards the young man before him. 

Marin lowers the gun, finally, and looks solemn when she replies. "He's the Emissary now."

Stiles actually thinks he puffs up slightly at that, as he enjoys the way it sounds. He's proud of it, he realises. Proud to be the Emissary. Harris though, just scoffs. 

"That doesn't mean anything. It's bullshit, Marin! All this stupid werewolf nonsense. It's all a load of crap."

Stiles has to hold back his sarcastic comment about that, but instead he clears his throat, loudly. When Harris turns to him, he smiles sickly sweet. "Not to interrupt you're little planning meeting but, shouldn't you be in school?"

Harris turns to Marin, a calm smile on his face. Stiles though, know's the man better than that. He can see the rage burning in his vacant eyes. 

"Give me the gun, Marin."

"Don't give him the gun, Marin." Stiles argues, immediately. 

"You know they won't the far behind him." Harris continues, acting as if Stiles hadn't even spoken. "We can't let them stop us, not when we're this close." 

Marin very obviously looks over to Stiles, and then back to Harris. The man just scoffs. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"Yes."

Stiles has to admit, Marin is pretty badass. Especially considering she seems to be annoying a man who had no qualms in kidnapping and attacking people. 

"I'm not going to hurt Stiles." Harris replies, and his voice is so monotone and blank that Stiles can't even tell whether or not there was a lie somewhere in those words. "Just give me the gun. If the wolves turn up -"

"It's not a wolfsbane gun." Marin interrupts, and Stiles actually lets out a little gasp when she moves over to Adrian, and carefully hands him the gun. Clearly, the threat of the pack outweighed her desire not to see a teenager get murdered. "It won't kill them, but it will slow them down."

Harris nods, before beginning to inspect the weapon in his hands. "Okay, carry on getting everything ready." He turns to Stiles then, "I'll take care of him."

"By 'take care of' do you mean give me more homework or something? Because, I have to be honest, I'd rather you just shoot me."

Harris laughs coldly, shaking his head. "How can you still be a smart ass right now?"

"It's not the first time someones held a gun up to my face." Stiles replies, before smiling sarcastically, and signalling between them. "Hey, you remember right! You were totally there last time!"

Adrian raises the gun then, and unlike with Marin, his hand remains totally steady. 

"One word." Harris growls, "One more word Stilisnki, and it'll be the last thing you ever say to me. It'll be the last thing you say, _ever._ "

Stiles just smiles. 

Harris though, doesn't seem to find anything funny. 

"NO!" 

Marin dives, just as Harris pulls the trigger. Stiles doesn't have time to even think, before Marin falls into his arms. 

"Stupid bitch!" Harris curses, lowering the gun, his eyes blazing with fury. 

Stiles looks down then, and notices that the hands he had put up to catch Marin were red. 

Red with blood. 

Harris runs then, towards the car still parked near the doorway to the barn, but Stiles hardly pays attention to the man. He hears the car quickly leave the building, but he just stares down at the woman in his arms.

"You, you saved my life?"

Marin moves to stand up, but she gasps in pain, and Stiles gently helps her to the floor. He cradles her in his arms, and looks down at her stomach, where her own hands were tightly clasped. He gently moves one away, ignoring the woman's protests.

Stiles swears he can see Marin's stomach. 

"Sti -"

Marin whimpers, and her eyes begin to flutter. 

"Marin, I know, I know it hurts ..." Stiles takes a shaking breath, watching as the woman's own breathing becomes ragged, and she whimpers in pain in once again. He winces in sympathy as he presses down on her stomach, hard. "But you have to stay awake. I can get someone to help. Okay, so please, don't go to sleep. Just talk to me. About anything, okay? About Laura?"

Marin smiles, and her teeth are red with blood. 

"No, nope. Stop that." Stiles snaps, shaking the woman in his arms, causing her to gasp. "You don't get to do that! You're not saying goodbye, and you're not giving up." Stiles takes a shaky breath again, trying to think. He has no phone. He has no way of even knowing where he is. "You're not getting out of this. You're not leaving your brother." 

Marin doesn't smile this time. She simply closes her eyes, and Stiles watches as tears begin to roll down her face.

"Marin, listen to me. Listen," Stiles has to shake her again, more gently this time, as he feels her begin to go limp in his arms, "Derek can give you the bite. You don't have to die."

The woman doesn't reply, but just remains still and limp in his arms. Stiles can feel her breathing still, but it was as if she'd ... given up. 

"Seriously?!" Stiles scoffs, growing angry now. "You don't even want to  _try?_ C'mon, I know you can try. You must be stubborn? I know how stubborn your brother is."

Marin laughs coldly, although it's no more than a splutter of blood, and a rasping sound. "Me ... a ... a werewolf?"

Despite the situation, Stiles manages a real smile. "Hey, I think you'd make a good werewolf. I think Laura would have thought so to."

"I'm ...I'm a ... druid." Stiles frowns then. A druid? "It won't ... work."

"Do you know that sure?" Stiles questions, his voice taking on a hysterical pitch. "Marin, do you _know_ that it won't work? Can't we try?"

Marin splutters, and Stiles knows she's trying to speak, but can't. 

"No." Stiles shakes his head rapidly, and presses down on Marin's stomach even harder, trying to ignore the warmth seeping over his fingers. " _I'm_ the most stubborn person ever, you should know that by now." Marin smiles again, and Stiles notices with some surprise that he's crying as well. "And no matter what's going on, you don't deserve to die. We're gonna get you some help."

He closes his eyes then, and thinks of one person. 

The one person who had emerged out of nowhere before.

He'd needed help then, and he needed help now ... 

"C'mon ... c'mon ..." The young man chants, slightly rocking back and forth, Marin still cradled in his arms. 

She'd gone still. Deathly still. 

"Stiles?"

Stiles opens his eyes, and sobs in relief. 

"YES!" He exclaims, as Parrish crouches down next to him, and takes in the scene.

Stiles know's that no matter what Parrish is in supernatural terms, he's also a cop. And he's a good one. He's immediately focused, and trying to help, and Stiles cry's even harder; a mixture of shock and relief. 

"Harris shot her." Stiles explains, moving his hand slightly, so that Parrish can see. 

Jordan nods, and moves Stiles' hands back to where they had been placed on Marin's stomach, giving him the instruction to press down hard, and keep them there. Parrish then moves to Marin's face, tapping it rapidly, and calling her name.

"She was awake," Stiles rasps, watching as Parrish pulls open one of Marin's eyelids. "She was talking to me."

"Okay, help me lay her out ..."

Jordan gently rolls Marin onto her back onto the floor, and Stiles shuffles back, helping to lay the woman flat.

As Parrish begins to rapidly press against her chest, willing her heart to start beating again, he shakes his head. "How did I get here?"

"Honestly, I have no idea." Stiles replies, wiping the tears off his face, not caring about the blood on his hands. "I just wanted you here, and it worked last time, with the fire." Parrish nods, understanding. "I didn't want to risk trying to get the others. It might not have worked." At the mention of the Pack, Stiles frowns. "Where are the others?"

"Back at the loft. Deaton was trying to figure out where you went." Stiles sighs, but Parrish just remains calm, and focused, still pushing on Marin's chest. "It'll be okay Stiles." Jordan continues, watching as Stiles reaches down to take one of Marin's hands in his own. "They'll be on their way here. Deaton can help."

Stiles shoots his head up at that. "How?"

"Deaton can track my phone. He's been doing it since last time, in case I disappeared again."

Stiles smiles, but stops when he feels how cold Marin's hand has become. He sobs, not caring what he must look like, or sound like. "It's my -"

"Don't." Parrish snaps, leaning down close to Marin's face. "Don't do that. That won't help anyone." He sits back on his legs once again, before inspecting the woman's stomach. "She's breathing, but she's loosing a lot of blood."

"I'll -" Stiles stops then, just as he was about to reach out and apply pressure on the wound, in an attempt to stem the bleeding. His fingers are tingling, and his own breaths are becoming rapid.

Shit, not again. 

"Get her to Deaton, and Derek. They can help ..."

Stiles trails off, feeling his heart flutter rapidly once again. It was the same feeling he had felt in Derek's loft, and he can't help but gulp. 

"What's going on?" Parrish questions, his hands still pressed against Marin's stomach. The man's eyes are glowing a soft orange, and the rapidly look up and down at Stiles' body, as if he were assessing him.

Stiles wonders if Parrish can see something that he can't. 

"I don't know." Stiles answers honestly, and he knows his own eyes must be glowing once again. He looks down at his tingling fingers, and then back to Parrish. "Just get her out of here. I'll -"

Everything goes black, and Stiles suddenly feels like he's about to vomit. 

* * *

"Stiles. Fucking. Stilinski."

Stiles wrenches himself upright, and realises immediately that he is in a car. And not just any car, but a very fast moving car.

And he's not the one driving. 

Adrian Harris meets his eyes in the rear view mirror, and huffs out a cold laugh at the sight of a pale faced and shaking Stiles, sitting in the back seat. 

"You're a real pain in my ass, Stiles."

Harris clenches the wheel, and let's out a low growl, and that's all the warning Stiles get's before the man wrenches the wheel, and the car veers off the road with an almighty screech. Stiles flies into the side of the car, having nothing to hold onto, and his shoulder roughly bangs against the door. As the treeline quickly approaches, and the car gains speed, all Stiles can think is ...

 _I knew Adrian Harris was going to kill me one day._  


	30. Chapter 30

**Saturday 30th April**

"Get out."

Stiles opens his eyes with a groan. He tries to sit up, but is stopped by a sudden shock of pain that travels up his arm to his shoulder. He gasps, but the man stood before him doesn't seem to care that he's in pain. He merely growls, and bangs on the car window with a clenched fist. 

"Stiles, get out of the car."

Stiles mumbles incoherently as he taps his hand against the leather upholstery, unable to find the handle for the car door. Suddenly, Harris moves forward and swings the back door open, and Stiles immediately topples onto the ground into a heap. He can smell smoke, and burning?

Oh, the car was on fire.

"Move." Harris growls, waving a gun in Stiles' general direction, as the young man attempts to pull himself off the floor. His hands slide on the muddy floor of the Preserve, and he hisses when a rock cuts into his palm. "We're going for a walk."

Sighing, Stiles stands, and begins to walk. He really wants to say something about the car as he begins to head deeper into the Preserve, but he keeps his mouth shut, as Harris follows him just as silently. The hood of the car is wrapped around a tree, and already surrounded in a thick black smoke. Stiles knows it won't be long until the entire vehicle is nothing but a blackened shell. Just like the cabin he'd been taken to. The cabin _Harris_ had taken him to. At least they'll be able to find the car pretty easily, Stiles thinks, looking up into the sky to watch the black plume of smoke rise. No one was going to be able to miss _that_. 

"Move." Harris growls again, jabbing the gun into Stiles' back. 

Stiles hadn't even noticed that he'd stopped walking. The young man grunts in pain from the jab, but does as he's told. He's in no mood to argue. "Where are we going?"

Harris doesn't answer, but Stiles hadn't expected him to. He quickly looks over his shoulder at the man behind him, and notices that Harris is limping, and he's bleeding. It's obviously from the crash, but Stiles still can't quite make out where the blood had come from. His head maybe? He quickly turns back around when Adrian gives him a glare, and waves the gun once again. He was getting pretty sick of guns. 

And being kidnapped. 

As Stiles continues to walk, he wonders whether he should try and do something. He could run, he was pretty fast. Maybe he could hide behind a tree? No, he thinks, as he carefully steps over a root. He was dizzy, and it felt like something in his arm was broken. He wouldn't get far, and definitely not with Harris shooting at him. Because Harris would shoot at him. He  _had_ tried to shoot him.

If Marin hadn't jumped in between them ... 

Marin.

Stiles hope's she's okay. 

"What's the plan here?" Stiles questions, as he ducks under a low hanging tree branch. He hopes for a second that it'll hit his kidnapper in the face, but no such luck. Harris just shoves the branch away with a muffled curse. "You going to shoot me?"

"Maybe." Harris answers calmly. 

Stiles can't help but roll his eyes. "Well, at least you're honest."

The young man winces in pain as his arm throbs, and he cradles it close to his chest, cursing under his breath as the pain begins to grow. At least he could still feel his arm, that was a good sign. He'd start to panic when it went numb. 

Although, he probably should already be panicking, considering the hostage situation he was currently in. 

"That was your fault back there, Stiles." Harris suddenly says, "Marin getting hurt was your fault. It was your fault that she got shot."

Stiles grits his teeth, but he doesn't stop walking, or even turn around. " _You_ shot her." The young man replies through his clenched teeth, but Harris just laughs. The sound of it makes Stiles hairs stand up on the back of his neck. 

Harris was loosing it. 

"No. No I didn't. I didn't do anything." The man mumbles, his voice getting faster with each word. "It was _your_ fault."

Stiles just sighs quietly, before avoiding another tree root, and continuing to walk deeper into the Preserve. He squints into the darkness, trying to make sure he wasn't going to fall flat onto his face by falling over something, but all of a sudden the blue tinted woods begin to glow a dim orange, and Stiles realises with some surprise that the sun was rising. 

He and Harris must have been unconscious in the car for a while. Stiles hopes that means his father and the Pack would have already found Marin and Parrish, and be looking for him. 

 _Derek_ would find him. 

"Where are we going?" Stiles questions again, curiosity getting the better of him after a few minutes of silence from his kidnapper. But also, he kinda needed to know where he was heading if Harris insisted that he walk in front. That was just common sense. 

"You'll see soon enough."

Stiles rolls his eyes once again, knowing that Harris won't be able to see his face. It was as if the man had borrowed some lines for a cheesy villain on The CW. Had he practised this? Looked in the mirror holding a gun, and pulling poses? 

Stiles shakes his head, partly to clear it, but also because he's sure he's just walked into a spiderweb.  

"Whatever you're planning -"

"Do you honestly think that we only had one plan?" Harris interrupts, and Stiles winces when he hears the rattle of the gun, which sounded like it was a little too close to his head for comfort. "That we didn't have a back up in case something went wrong? Do you honestly think we're that stupid?"

"Yeah, you're right." Stiles murmurs, wincing once again when his arm protests in being moved. He weaves around a tree. "Clearly you're smarter than me, what with the shooting and the kidnapping ... You're a genius."

Harris actually sighs at that. "Just keep moving."

Stiles walks in silence for a while, occasionally turning to glance at Harris, asking with his expression if he was going in the right direction. Every time, Harris just jabs the gun into Stiles' back, ordering him to keep going, and so Stiles just keeps walking in the same direction. After a while, Harris begins to mumble to himself. It's quick and erratic, and Stiles swears the man is talking to himself, about himself. He shudders, knowing that his kidnapper had definitely lost it now. There was going to be no pleading, or reasoning with the man behind him. They'd past that point, now that Harris was cursing at himself, and shaking his head so fast Stiles knows it must be making him dizzy. Stiles quickly drowns out the man behind him, listening instead to the sound of the birds, the wind blowing through the trees, and the rain that has gently began to patter against the ground. 

He loved the Preserve. Stiles looks over to a tree in the distance, and his mind immediately drifts. He forgets for a moment the mad man behind him, and the gun pointed at his head. Images flash through his mind, so clear and so vivid, that the young man can't help but smile to himself. 

Stiles falling over a tree root, and Derek just shaking his head at Stiles' clumsiness...

Derek getting hit in the groin with a Lacrosse ball...

Peter bursting into flames..

Stiles falling out of the tree, and Derek catching him like some sort of sweeping hero in a romantic movie...

Derek actually karate chopping a rock, and laughing at Stiles' stunned expression...

Scott jogging behind Stiles, shaking his inhaler and calling for Stiles to slow down...

Jackson sitting with Stiles in the back of a police truck...

Finding Laura ... 

Stiles had a lot of memories in the Preserve. Some were bad and some were good, but they were all important to him. He thinks then, as he takes in the large tree in front of him, one that he was sure he had once climbed with Derek looking on, that he wouldn't mind dying here. It felt, almost right. He quickly shakes that thought off, just as Harris curses loudly, scaring a bird. He wasn't going to die. Not here, and not today. Derek and Scott and his Dad would kill him. 

Harris suddenly laughs, and before Stiles can ask what the hell was the man's problem, he realises where they were.

The Hale house.

"Go on." Harris growls, jabbing the gun into Stiles' back when he stops to look up at the building. "Keep moving." 

"Why are we here?" Stiles questions, and he blames the pain in his arm and the gun pointed at him for his shaking voice. 

" _Keep moving_." Harris growls again, louder this time. 

Stiles keeps moving. 

As he walks to the house, he thinks about the last time he had been here. He and Isaac had been 'taking a break' from their assignment, and decided to pester Derek, although they'd called it 'getting some fresh air'. Stiles hadn't even known the Alpha and Peter were still visiting the house, let alone renovating it. Stiles had taken in the paint tins, tools and covered furniture and laughed, asking whether the two men were going to become some sort of supernatural handymen. Peter had rolled his eyes, before showing Isaac how they were planning to rebuild the house. Derek though, had smiled, before growling at Stiles when he had been about to touch some wet paint. 

Harris stops him in front of the front door, and Stiles can't help but shake his head at the Hale's lack of security. Derek had grumbled something about them being werewolves, and so they didn't need to have security. 

_"We'll be able to smell anyone if they come within ten miles of the house, Stiles. It's fine."_

_"Hey, I'm not disputing your sense of smell, Sourwolf." The young man had conceded. "But what about if some random person is walking through the Preserve and finds the house? Decides to come in and have a snoop?"_

_"Everyone knows about this house, Stiles. They wouldn't do that. Besides, we have signs."_

_Stiles had rolled his eyes. Trust Derek to think a 'Keep Out' sign would be enough to deter nosy teenagers. "You obviously haven't heard of these people called criminals."_

_"Who would be walking around here anyway? 'Snooping around'." Peter had asked, intimidating Stiles's voice._

_"You mean, besides Stiles?" Derek had mumbled with a smirk, and Stiles had shoved Isaac when he had started to laugh._

_"This is private property, and it's guarded by werewolves. We don't need -"_

_"But what about when you're not here?" Stiles had questioned, and Isaac had nodded along with agreement, apparently realising the young mans point. "Like now, when you're at the apartment, who's watching this place?"_

_"We are." Peter had replied, a smirk on his face. "We know what's going on in our own territory."_

_"Always." Derek had added, almost like a promise._

Stiles sincerely hopes Peter hadn't been exaggerating about always knowing what was going on around the Hale house. He hoped that by now, the Alpha and his Pack would be able to figure out where he was.

Harris reaches around Stiles, and goes to open the door. It swings open with a groan, and Stiles actually face palms.

They hadn't even locked the door. 

Walking into the house, Harris close behind, Stiles can't help but be annoyed. Of all the places Harris could have chosen to bring him, this was officially the worst. Enough had happened in this house. There didn't need to be anything else linked to it, especially a hostage situation.

Stiles actually gasps when he notices Peter and Derek had gathered some cardboard boxes near the large staircase, and scrawled a few names across the sides in a thick black ink. 

Peter.

Derek.

Isaac.

Oh god, they were getting ready  _to move in._ They were trying to make this place a home, and here Harris was, ruining it. Although he's no better, Stiles thinks, as he looks down at his muddy shoes. He'd left a trail on Derek's new carpet. 

Harris paces next to the front door, muttering to himself, and Stiles just waits patiently, looking at the boxes, and wondering why on earth Peter had the most. How much space did he need for v-neck tshirts and leather?

"In there," Harris says suddenly, and Stiles follows the mans gaze over to the living room. "Go sit down. I need to think."

Stiles has a million clever retorts to that particular comment, but he keeps quiet, instead sitting on the sofa with a sigh. It was covered in a thick cotton blanket, and Stiles relaxes down into it, enjoying the warmth and comfort. He'd gotten wet in the rain, and starts to shudder, his thin t shirt and plaid not keeping out the cold. He distracts himself by looking around, and trying to see what had changed since he had last been there. He notices a new table pushed against one of the walls, and swears that those porcelain vases were new. He wonders if it was a good idea to have porcelain in a house of werewolves. Surely, they'd last five minutes before getting smashed. A few more weeks of work, and a few more coats of paint, and Stiles could see himself loving the house. He could imagine himself curled up on the sofa, watching Netflix on Derek's obnoxiously large TV, throwing popcorn at Isaac, and laughing at Derek's terrible choice in furniture. Maybe they could play videos games again? That had been fun.

Suddenly, Harris marches into the living room, and Stiles mentally kicks himself for not noticing he had been left alone for a few minutes. He could have tried to run -

"Don't even think about."

Stiles tries to pull an expression of pure innocence, but he's Stiles. He's sure it must've looked like he'd just stolen something. "What?"

"Don't even think about trying to leave." Harris growls, as he paces back and forth in the centre of the room.

Stiles was getting dizzy just watching him. 

He instead thinks about his options. He could just wait it out; keep Harris talking until someone found him. That seemed like the best option, although Harris was still holding the gun like it was made of solid gold. He had no intention of letting it go, and Stiles couldn't be sure that the man wasn't suddenly going to snap, and shoot him.

He needed a plan. He needed time to think. 

"Kate Argent."

Stiles swears he feels the house react to hearing the name. He shudders, before frowning at Harris, who had stopped pacing, and now was stood before him with a calm expression on his face. 

"What?"

"You wanted to know how I got involved, I heard you ask Marin." Adrian replies, his voice low. "Well, there's your answer. Kate Argent."

"You ..." Stiles blinks, and tries to school his expression into neutral curiosity, rather than rage. He _hated_ Kate Argent. "You know Kate?"

Harris shakes his head, and raises the gun, pointing it back at Stiles."Knew. I _knew_ Kate."

Oh yeah, Stiles thinks, watching Harris closely. She was dead, so ... past tense. 

"Yeah, knew." Stiles concedes, partly because Harris was right, but partly because he had a gun pointed at him. Again. 

"How about we do this fairly, a question for a question." 

Stiles raises an eyebrow, before nodding down towards the gun. "Doesn't seem pretty fair to me." The young man drawls, but Harris just takes deep breath, before stepping forward.  "Fine! Fine, I'll play along." Stiles exclaims, raising his good arm, before quickly moving back to hold his injured one. It was beginning to tingle. That wasn't a good sign. 

"You first." Harris says, so casually Stiles actually has to stop himself from shaking his head in disbelief.

How the hell was this his life? 

"How did you know Kate Argent?" Stiles questions, keeping his voice as monotone as possible. He wasn't going to give Adrian an excuse to shoot him. 

"We met here in Beacon Hills. It was a bar I think, about six or seven years ago." Harris answers quickly. "She told me she loved me, she fucked me, and then she used information I'd told her to murder 8 people."

Jesus. Christ. Stiles had _not_ been expecting that answer. 

"My turn." Harris moves the gun from where it had been pointing at Stiles' body, and points it directly at Stiles' head instead. "How did you get involved in all this crap?"

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "By 'crap' do you mean werewolves?" Harris glares, and so Stiles quickly changes his mind about asking too many sarcastic questions. That was his go-to, but he figures that he should probably keep things a little more serious, given the circumstances. "Scott. I got involved because of Scott."

Harris frowns, "Scott McCall? I didn't think you were even friends anymore."

Stiles can't help but huff out a laugh at that. How did everyone seem to know more about his friendship with Scott than he did? 

"Yeah, me neither."

Harris nods, before wiggling the gun in a 'go ahead' gesture. "Your turn again."

"Why are you working with Marin?"

Adrian chuckles, and the gun shakes with his movement. "Getting straight to the point, Stiles? I'm impressed."

"I had a good teacher." Stiles replies, thinking of his father. He thinks the Sheriff would be proud at how calm he was being. Well, his father wouldn't exactly be pleased about Stiles antagonising a man with a gun, but hey, he was only human.

No, wait ... he wasn't human. How did he forget that?!

Harris frowns once again, and Stiles actually shakes his head, trying to make it look like his mind had just drifted, rather than the fact he had just realised he probably had a fighting chance of getting out of there alive. Adrian squints, suspicious, and takes a step forward. "What are you planning, Stilinski?"

"College. What I'm going to eat for breakfast. You know, the usual."

Adrian closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath through his nose. "Don't."

Stiles frowns. "Don't answer your questions?"

"Don't be stupid."

Stiles can't exactly argue with that. "I asked you a question."

Harris nods, his anger seeming to leave him as quickly as it had arrived. "Garrison Myers, Reddick and Unger." Harris replies, in answer to Stiles' earlier question, his voice shaking. "Recognise the names?"

"No." Stiles answers immediately, but Adrian doesn't seem pleased with that answer.

He shakes his head, and his eyes burn in anger. "Think, Stiles." The man hisses, and Stiles involuntarily flinches as the gun waivers in his face. "I know you know who those people were. You've been sticking your nose in all this since the beginning."

One word in that catches Stiles' attention immediately. "Were? As in -"

"They're dead." Harris answers, and he blanches as the words leave his mouth. "Courtesy of Peter Hale."

Oh ...

"They were involved in the Hale Fire." Stiles answers, and Harris smiles, as if he's pleased with this answer. For a moment Stiles feels like he's back at school. "Peter killed everyone involved in the fire while he was the Alpha."

Harris shakes his head. "No, not everyone."

Stiles feels sick. 

"You ... you helped Kate." It's not a question, because he already know's the answer. Harris hadn't just told Kate things about the Hales, but he had helped her kill them all. 

"She asked me questions, and I had answers. The others might have done the legwork, but I was the brains."

Stiles can't keep the disgust from his face. "You sound proud."

"Hey, I'm free and clear!" Harris exclaims, his voice too loud, and his smile too wide. "No one ever knew. Even Myers and Reddick didn't know. I knew about them, but they didn't know about me. Kate played them _so_ well."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Stiles replies, pointedly looking at the mad man in front of him. "I know you got questioned after the fire."

"And released." Harris replies, before sighing. "I regretted it for a while, you now. After it happened. I thought I'd help her kill innocent people. But then I realised ... I'd killed monsters."

"They aren't -"

"Peter killed people." Harris growls, and Stiles winces when the gun rattles once again. He kept forgetting about it. "He ripped people apart. You've seen them, you know what they can do." Harris continues, his eyes burning with anger. "They deserve to die. I don't." 

"So, the wolfsbane?"

"Marin's idea, but I have to say, it was genius."

Stiles shakes his head, careful not to jostle his injured arm. "Why would Marin want to help you? You're a maniac."

"She wanted Peter dead, and I so do I. We had a common goal. Besides, people do crazy things everyday. Like make friends with werewolves, for example."

Stiles hates the fact that he kinda has to give Harris that one. If he was sane, he would have gotten the hell out of Beacon Hills, instead of following around supernatural creatures with a wooden baseball bat. But still, that seemed like a thought for another time. 

"You weren't just going to hurt one werewolf. I don't care what you say." Stiles adds, seeing that Harris was about to protest. "You had enough wolfsbane in that garden to wipe out Beacon Hills, let alone Peter Hale."

"Ah, but you see Stiles, we're not stupid enough to poison someone with ordinary wolfsbane. It's easy to trace."

Stiles know's his eyes are wide when he says, "You were working on a wolfsbane that wouldn't be traceable. You could kill Peter, and no one would ever even know how he died."

To Stiles' surprise, Adrian actually smiles at that. "Why couldn't you ever be this smart in class?"

The young man has to refrain from rolling his eyes. "Pointing a gun at someone is a good motivator. Especially when you're asking them questions."

Harris laughs, and Stiles' hair stands on end when he hears it. "I'll remember that."

"So, you were going to kill Peter, and then what?" Stiles questions, "Act like nothing ever happened? Go back to teaching? Play the innocent victim?"

"You're the Sheriff's kid. You know how everything works." Harris drawls, "Autopsy's, interviews ... we weren't going to fall into that trap. We needed to make sure no one was ever going to question how that monster died."

Stiles opens his mouth, about to argue, but he closes it again.

Even Peter, if he were there, wouldn't want him arguing on his behalf when someone was threatening him with a gun. He sees Harris' smirk though, and he just can't help it. The words slip out of his mouth before he can even register what he's about to say. 

"You know, considering you're the one claiming to be killing the monsters, you're pretty okay with kidnapping and murder. What does that make you?"

"I'm a Hunter, like Kate. I'm killing the bad guys." Harris actually shrugs, before he adds. "Sometimes you have to do bad things, to do a good thing."

Stiles shakes his head, and if he could, he would have thrown his arms into the air in exasperation. "Did you read that somewhere and think it sounded cool? Because I got to tell you man, it doesn't." 

Harris begins to pace up and down the room once again, and Stiles knows this is his chance. He needed to get Parrish again. He was going to have to do some distracting, and that meant talking ... he was good at talking.

"I think my arm's broken. Or my shoulder or something."

Harris doesn't stop pacing. He doesn't even acknowledge that Stiles has even spoken.

"Did you hear me? I think -"

"Not my problem."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "If I pass out -"

"Then I'll have five minutes of peace to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do!" Harris exclaims, drawing the gun on Stiles once again. "Shut. Up."

Stiles shuts up, but only because he knows Parrish has arrived.

He can't describe it, but he just know's he's stood outside the room. Stiles wonders, as Harris begins to pace once again, what this connection was between him and Parrish. They'd shorted out the electricity in his house, Stiles could literally call out to Parrish when he was in danger.

It was almost as if they were ... Pack?

Oh shit. Stiles has gone from being the outsider in the Pack, to being the one bringing new people in. When did that happen? 

Suddenly, Harris stops pacing. He looks over towards Stiles with a expression of calm, and clarity, as if he'd just figured something else. Stiles opens his mouth, ready to say something, but Harris just moves the gun up towards his face. Stiles swears it happens in slow motion

"I don't need you. I'm screwed anyway. They'll kill me." Harris murmurs, and Stiles thinks the man is talking to himself more than he is talking to his hostage. "I'll kill you, and then -"

Stiles dives off the sofa, heading towards the open doorway. Harris curses, and whirls around, following the young mans movement with the gun in his hand.

A shot rings out, and Stiles freezes.

He was okay.

How was he okay?!

Stiles grunts in pain as he lays on the floor, his arm throbbing, and now he's certain that his arm is broken. He turns his head slowly, and lets out a gasp of surprise when he sees something on the floor behind him

Someone had dived in between him and the gun.

Again. 

"STOP SHOOTING PEOPLE!" Stiles screams, pushing himself off the floor, all the pain in his arm forgotten. He rushes over to Parrish, and crouches down next to the man's head. There was a whole in the back of it, and Stiles actually has to swallow some bile as he wretches into his mouth. 

"This is your fault!" Harris cries, his voice breaking. "You're getting people killed!"

"You're the one with the gun!" Stiles is crying now, but he doesn't care. He looks away from Parrish. The man was dead. No one could survive that.  "You're the one doing this! Just put the fucking gun down!"

"No," Harris shakes his head back and forth rapidly. "No, they're going to kill me. They're werewolves, Stiles.  _Werewolves."_ The fear in his eyes is almost enough to make Stiles feel sorry for him. Almost.

"Yeah, werewolves are real, you figured it out. Good for you." Stiles grunts in pain as he tries to push himself off the floor. "I know that, loads of people know that, but we don't loose our fucking minds! We don't start shooting people!" 

Harris is pale as he begins to lower the gun. "Kate -"

"Kate is dead," Stiles hisses, finally standing up from the floor. He quickly wipes away the tears from his face with a shaking hand. "And so is Marin, and now so is Parrish! How many more people have to die!"

He shouldn't have asked that question, he knows that.

Harris smiles, before raising the gun once again. "Just two more, Stiles. Just us." 

Stiles shakes his head, crying. "You're insane."

Suddenly, a sound emerges from Parrish's body. Both Harris and Stiles turn to look, and just as they do, smoke begins to rise from the place Parrish had fallen. The men slowly back away as flames and sparks erupt from the fallen man, and Stiles shakes his head in disbelief when he realises that Parrish is breathing.

He's alive.

"What the fu -"

Before Harris can even finish his sentence, Parrish is stood before him, his eyes burning red, and his body full aflame. Stiles panic's, looking around the room, and seeing all the very flammable objects.

"Parrish. Stop." Stiles commands, waving his good arm in front of the man's face. "You're going to burn the house down!"

Harris drops the gun and turns in one motion, running out of the room. Stiles is shocked to realise the man has gone in the opposite direction of the exit, and headed towards the back of the house.

That wasn't good. 

"Parrish!" Sparks begin to fly from the man, and land on objects around the room. The sofa catches fire with a soft 'woof' sound, and Stiles reaches out before he even realises what he's doing. He places his good hand on Parrish's shoulder, and just like that, the flames die down.

But it's too late. The house is already on fire.

"Shit." Stiles curses, before bending down and collecting the discarded gun. He runs from the room, following where Harris had headed, before calling out to Parrish to follow him. 


	31. Chapter 31

The basement to the Hale house gives Stiles the creeps. 

He knows that innocent people died down here, that  _children_ died down here, and that's enough to make him want to throw up, and then bolt out of the room. But his desire to make sure Harris doesn't hurt anyone else outweighs his desire to run in the opposite direction.

Besides, the exit to the house was currently on fire. 

When Stiles and Parrish enter the basement, Harris is just stood silently in the centre of the room. Stiles raises the gun with his good arm, and moves forward slowly, and Parrish follows closely, his expression blank. As Stiles moves closer he notices that Harris is looking at something. 

It's a just mass of wires and electrical parts, but Stiles shudders when it looks at it. 

This wasn't good. 

"What did you do?"

Harris huffs out a laugh, but doesn't turn around. "All of those experiments with wolfsbane paid off eventually. This is Plan B."

"What is that thing?" Stiles questions, stopping a few metres away, the gun shaking in his hand. 

"It's specially made for werewolves." Harris answers cryptically. 

"What. Is. It?" Stiles doesn't know why he even bothers to ask again. He know's what he's looking at.

He's seen movies. 

"An explosive device." Harris replies, his voice eerily calm. "Well, I suppose it's just a bomb. But I think that's a little ... basic for it."

"Marin said she wasn't going to hurt anyone else." Stiles says, glaring at the back of Harris' head. "She said she just wanted Peter. Making a bomb doesn't exactly go with that." 

"She lied." Harris answers, his shoulder's rising and falling in a shrug. "She's a good liar. And I told you we had a back up plan. This is it." Harris continues, waving a hand in the direction of the pile of wires and plastic. 

Stiles gulps. 

"How do I stop -" 

"Oh, you could try to stop it, but I don't think you'd have enough time to get out." Harris interrupts, finally turning to look over his shoulder and the two men who had cornered him. He smirks. "I give the house five minutes, maybe ten, until it's nothing more than a pile of embers anyway. I'm just speeding along the process." 

Stiles moves forward then, keeping the gun trained on Harris' face. He's not even sure if it's loaded, or if there is a safety switch of some kind, but Harris doesn't look pleased to have his gun suddenly turned towards him. Stiles hopes that's a good sign. 

"How the hell did you even get this in here? How did no one see anything?"

Stiles is partly talking to himself. He wonders how no one had smelt anything weird, or noticed someone had been coming and going.  When was the last time the Hales had come to house?

Oh, Stiles thinks, blanching. Derek and Peter _never_ came into the basement.

He never even bothered to ask why that was. He knew why they didn't. 

"We, well Marin, brought it here in small pieces. It took a while to assemble, but luckily the Hale's have been distracted recently. All we needed was a druid who could cover her scent, and two distracted werewolves." Harris replies, pointedly looking over at Stiles as he speaks. "It's amazing what people miss," Harris continues, his voice monotone, almost bored. "Especially when they don't expect to find anything."

"Stop being philosophical." Stiles growls, as Parrish moves further into the basement, and stands next to him. He's completely naked, his skin blackened by the fire, and Stiles quickly turns his gaze away. "Turn it off." He commands to Harris, gesturing to the large pile of wires and electrical parts in the centre of the room. 

"I can't."

"Turn -"

"I don't know how." Harris insists, his voice beginning to rise. "Marin made the bomb, I made the wolfsbane. I didn't even do anything. It's on a countdown. If she didn't turn it off manually, then it would automatically be set. Stupid bitch just had to go and get shot. And now," Harris waves a hand, "this thing is active."

Stiles can't help but shake his head at that. "I'll say it again dumb ass,  _you_ shot her."

"That was your fault." Harris says, and Stiles doesn't even bother to argue with the man. Clearly he wasn't going to listen.

Stiles looks over to the bomb, and frowns. 

"There must be a way to shut it down. Pull some wires or -"

"It's not that simple."

Stiles looks closely at the bomb, and notices that in it's centre is a small clear box. He can make out green and purple in amidst all the black, and knows then what he's looking at.

Wolfsbane.

More specifically, he was looking at Harris' specially created wolfsbane. Stiles smiles then, and idea coming into his head. He lowers the gun slowly, and Harris frowns, clearly confused at the young mans action, and amused expression. 

"Okay, then go over there, and take the wolfsbane out. We can deal with the explosive part later. Or we could just run away ..."

Stiles tries to ignore the part of his brain that says,  _there's a fire idiot. How are you going to get out?_

Harris just grits his teeth. "That could set it off. Any attempt to do anything to it could set it off. I'd be blown to pieces."

"I don't care." Stiles growls, raising the gun once again. Clearly asking nicely wasn't going to work. "Take the wolfsbane out, and give it to Parrish. He'll get rid of it."

On hearing his name, Parrish steps forward. His eyes burn a bright yellow, and Stiles realises with some surprise that small scraps of clothing are still hanging onto to his frame, and glowing dimly. He's still on fire. As Stiles curses, noticing that his companion was probably going to spread the fire, Harris takes a step back, moving away from Parrish. The man had the same vacant look on his face as he had in the cabin when he had rescued Stiles.

Stiles clears his throat loudly, seeing if the man had a reaction, but he doesn't even flinch. Parrish wasn't home. 

"What the hell is he?"

"Not your biggest problem right now." Stiles growls, although he does have to admit that Parrish is another problem he's going to have to sort out. And soon. He turns back to Harris, waving him over towards the bomb. "Do it. Take out of the wolfsbane."

"It's not going to make a difference." Harris drawls, taking a step further away from the bomb, and closer to Stiles. "It's going to go off. Nothing's gonna stop it now. Marin's been working on this thing for _years._ She wasn't going to let Peter Hale get away alive. Even if that meant taking some other werewolves with him."

"Or innocent people." Stiles growls. "Humans."

"We didn't think the Hales were going to have friends." Harris drawls, "Who would have thought the murderer would have friends that worry about him?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. Here comes the 'villain monologue'. He always had hated that in the movies. 

"Why didn't you just," Stiles waves the gun in a erratic gesture, "blow the house up before? Why this dramatic reveal? You could have just waited until the Hales came here alone."

Harris smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "She didn't want to. I think she didn't want to hurt Derek. And besides, the wolfsbane wasn't ready. That's the real beauty of this thing." 

Stiles frowns, thinking for a moment. He can tell that Harris isn't lying about the bomb going off soon, and he'd rather start planning on what to do next, then just stand and talk. Or stand and stare, as Parrish was doing. 

"What's the radius on this thing?" Stiles questions, "How far -"

"Far enough." Is all Harris says in answer, his expression bored and vacant, and Stiles begins to feel sick. 

"That's really not a good enough answer." Stiles growls. "How far is the blast going to be? And what about the wolfsbane?"

Stiles trails off then. He really didn't want to think about _that_. 

He had a lot of furry friends to worry about. 

Adrian sighs, and leans his head back, looking at the blackened ceiling of the basement. "I don't know for sure. Marin said something like 15 miles for the wolfsbane. The blast will destroy the house for sure, but the wolfsbane? That will kill everything with glowing eyes for miles."

Stiles blinks. "That's impossible."

"Once it get's into the air, they're all dead Stiles." Harris says, with a shrug so casual Stiles has to resist the urge to punch the man in the face. "From here to the High School. No supernatural creature is going to survive it. Think of it as a supernatural cleanse. We'll all be better off afterwards."

Stiles' growl sounds so much like Derek that it shocks even him for a moment. 

"Get the wolfsbane out,  _now._ " 

"We don't have time."

"I swear -"

"By the time I get it out, this whole house will be up in flames!" Harris argues, his voice rising, and Stiles is in no mood to be yelled at. Especially by his teacher. Or ex teacher? Stiles doesn't think he'll be seeing Harris back at Beacon Hills High School after all this is over. 

Stiles has to admit though, that the man had a point. They'd been talking for far to long. 

"Can we move it? The bomb?"

Harris just laughs. "You're welcome to try."

"Can you -"

"Marin designed it so that once it was switched on, any movement or tampering would set it off." Harris interjects, and Stiles grumbles under his breath. "I don't think she ever actually thought we'd need to use it. I don't think she even _wanted_ to use it."

"There has to be a fail safe ..."

"There isn't one."

"So, you're useless then." 

Harris smiles then, before fully turning to face Stiles. The young man holds the gun steady, hoping that he looked confident enough with it in his hand that Harris wouldn't be able to tell he had no idea how to shoot. 

"Are you going to keep talking until we all burn to death? Or are you going to just shoot me, Stilinski?"

Stiles doesn't think he would, even if he  _could._ "No." The young man answers, lowering the weapon in his hand. "I'm not like you. I'm not a monster." Stiles growls, just as smoke begins to fill the basement. Stiles turns towards his supernatural companion, and know's then what he's going to do.

Derek is going to kill him.

"Parrish is going to get you out of here, and then you're going to prison. For a _really_ long time. Then we're going to deal with your Plan B."

Harris looks stunned. Clearly he hadn't been expecting that. "St -"

"Get him out of here." Stiles interrupts, turning to speak directly to Parrish. 

The man walks over to Harris in a few strides, before roughly grabbing him in his scorched arms. Harris winces, and tries to pull away, but Parrish doesn't react. 

"Wait! Get your hands off me!"

Parrish pulls Harris up towards the staircase, ignoring him as he struggles and yells, and Stiles hopes that they will be able to get out. The young man knows the fire must have spread throughout the downstairs of the house by now. He wasn't going to have long. 

Suddenly, Parrish disappears, and Harris' voice is cut off mid sentence. Stiles frowns in the space where the two men had been standing, and tilts his head.

"Okay," The young man mumbles, lowering the gun. "So _everyone_ can teleport now. Awesome."

The gun falls onto the floor with a clatter, and Stiles resumes cradling his injured arm. He looks around the room, for something, maybe some inspiration, but his eyes just go back to the bomb in the centre of the room. It didn't even have a countdown on it. That would have at least been a little helpful. 

And Harris and Marin had snuck the thing into the basement? 

When he got out of there, he was going to give the Hale's a very long lecture about home security. No, he was going to get his father to do it. That would be hilarious. 

Stiles coughs, as some smoke gets into his chest, and he pulls himself out of his reverie. He had work to do ...  

"Okay, now all I need to do is figure out how to diffuse a bomb. No problem." Stiles mutters to himself, beginning to walk around the mess of wires and boxes. Suddenly he feels presence behind him. 

He turns, finding a very confused, and very naked looking Parrish. 

"That was quick." Is all Stiles says, and that makes Parrish look even more confused. 

"Stiles?"

"Oh great." Stiles mumbles with a laugh. "You really pick your moments to come back to reality. Welcome back."

Parrish stands before him, a frown on his face, before he takes in the room, and what Stiles is stood next to. "What the hell is that?!" The man exclaims, and Stiles is surprised to see the man move towards the explosive, and not away from it.

Parrish was just as smart, or maybe as stupid, as he was. 

"It's a bomb, but it's not the explosion we have to worry about. See this?" Stiles points, and Parrish moves forward. "It's wolfsbane. If it get's into the air it's going to kill any supernatural creature in like, ten miles. That probably means us as well, by the way." Stiles adds, and he has to admit he get's a little kick from putting himself in the same category as the werewolves. 

Even his eyes glowed now as well. 

Parrish quickly turns his head, looking around the room that was beginning to fill with smoke. "There's a fire."

"Yeah, that was you, man." Stiles answers, and Parrish actually looks upset by that. "You kinda died, and then 'poof'," Stiles waves his good hand, "there was smoke and flames, and then you were alive."

Parrish shakes his head, but it looks more like disablief than confusion. "That's happened before."

"Really?" Stiles questions, as Jordan walks further into the room, and begins to look at the bomb. "You've died and caught fire before?"

"It's why I came to Beacon Hills." Jordan begins, getting even closer to the explosive. "I got shot when I was in the Army. Woke up in the middle of nowhere, on fire."

Stiles nods, before a cough wracks him frame, and he leans forward spluttering. Jordan seems to snap to attention then, and he looks beyond Stiles, towards the stairs. "I need to get you out of here." 

"You're fireproof." Stiles says, once the coughing subsides enough for him to speak. "You'll have time to -"

"But you're not!" Parrish exclaims. 

"I'm not leaving until this thing is safe." Stiles replies with a raised voice, just as an almighty crash sounds from upstairs. "Erm, actually, it doesn't look like I'm leaving, period. That didn't sound good. I think it was something exploding?"

Stiles wonders how he is managing to keep his voice sound so calm. He definitely wasn't calm.  

Parrish leans down next to the bomb, ignoring his own nakedness, and begins to gently move wires around. He nods, before looking up at Stiles. "I can handle this."

"Really?"

"I can diffuse a bomb."

"But Harris said -"

"It's okay. This is a homemade IED. I've worked on these before." Parrish interrupts. He stands then, holding out an arm. "I need to get you out, now."

Stiles is already shaking his head. "No, you need to do this. And soon. You don't have time to babysit me."

"Stiles -"

"Fix the bomb, then we'll both get out of here."

Parrish's eyes glow, and Stiles can't help but feel bad for the command. It didn't look like the man had any chance to disagree with him. Parrish crouches on the floor once again, and Stiles stands a small distance away, looking around the room. There was no way out from here, but he already knew that. 

That's why so many had people had died last time. 

"Did you just mind control me?"

Stiles winces. "Maybe? I'm sorry." The young man says, and he really means it. "I don't even know how I'm doing any of this stuff. But I'm not leaving. I can't. This is kinda my fault."

"How?" Parrish questions with a disapproving frown, and Stiles watches closely as the man gently pulls a thick red wire away from a bundle of others. 

"Long story short? Harris tried to kill me, but ended up shooting Marin, then went kinda crazy. I think my personality didn't help -" The young man is cut off by another hacking cough, and Parrish gives him a very pointed look. "You, concentrate on that. I'll -"

"Concentrate on not dying?" Parrish challenges.

Wow. Way to make Stiles feel bad.

"Yeah. The fire's not spread to the stairs yet." Stiles answers, as he looks up to the very top of the staircase, seeing smoke, but no flames. "We've got time. But not much."

Parrish nods, and gets back to work. "What the hell am I?" The man questions suddenly.  

Stiles looks over at Parrish as he carefully moves some more wires around, frowning to himself. Stiles shrugs, but then winces at the pain. He'd forgotten about his arm. "If I was putting money on it, I'd say Phoenix."

"Phoenix?" Parrish questions, and Stiles nods, even though the man wasn't looking towards him. 

"Yeah. They rise from the ashes, are connected with fire. It fits." Parrish shakes his head, laughing, and Stiles frowns. "Why is that so funny?"

"I was born in Phoenix." Parrish explains, before carefully pulling apart a wire. Stiles winces, but the man crouched on the floor doesn't seem to be the least bit worried. Clearly he hadn't been lying about knowing what he was doing. "In Arizona."

"Okay. That's weird." Stiles replies, because it really was. Maybe it was connected? A Phoenix from Phoenix. Add that to the list of weird things to look into once all this was over. 

"Stiles? Where are you going?"

Stiles pauses with one foot on the bottom of the stairs. Damn. He thought Parrish had been distracted ... 

"I'm going to try and put out of the fire."

"What?!" Parrish exclaims, standing from his crouch in one fluid movement. "Are you cra -"

"You, concentrate on that." Stiles commands once again, nodding his head towards the bomb. Parrish looks unamused. "Hey, if I can teleport people, then I'm gonna be able to put out a fire. Magically." Stiles wiggles the fingers on his good hand, before he frowns. "Hopefully."

Parrish frowns himself at that. The man looks at the explosive, then back to Stiles. He sighs, and Stiles know's he's won. 

"Good luck." Is all Parrish says, as he resumes his crouch. 

"Same to you." Stiles replies, before taking his last breath of somewhat clear air, and making his way up the staircase. 

* * *

It's not as bad as Stiles had thought it would be, but it's still pretty bad. 

The smell hits Stiles as soon as he steps back into the living room, and he hacks a cough, before pulling his shirt up around his nose and mouth. His skin prickles from the heat, and Stiles stands, looking at the devastation for a few seconds, before making his way back into the basement.

It was no good. The house was done for. 

"Okay. So, I tried?" Stiles announces as the steps into the basement. He frowns, seeing that his companion was frozen in a crouch. "Parrish?"

"The wolfsbane's out." Parrish says, gesturing to the clear box.

Stiles moves over to it instantly, before kicking it with his foot. The wolfsbane rattles around inside it, and Stiles let's out a sigh of relief. That was one less problem to worry about. Stiles just looks down at it, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. He didn't think he should try and pick it up. 

"This is all of it?"

Parrish nods, "What is that stuff? It's ... different. It feels weird."

"I have no idea what it is." Stiles answers honestly. "I'll let Deaton figure that out."

"He knows about all this stuff? The weird stuff?" Parrish questions, still not attempting to do anything about the explosive in front of him.

"Yeah." Stiles answers slowly. Suddenly, he remembers he hadn't even asked about what had happened after he had disappeared the second time. "Hey, what happened with Marin?"

"She's alive. I think."

Stiles raises an eyebrow at that. "You think? That's not exactly comforting."

Suddenly, Parrish leans forward, reaching an arm into the very centre of the mass of wires. Stiles winces as the man begins to pull something back, but once again, Parrish doesn't even flinch as he begins to stretch and move around wires.

"Deaton and the others arrived, and then I don't remember what happened."

"Shit." Stiles curses. "It's because you came here isn't it?"

Parrish nods his head quickly, as he gently peels off the outer casing of a thick black and green wire. "I think so. You left, and then I waited, and then ... nothing. It's like as soon as you were gone, I just, kinda -"

"Clocked out?" Stiles suggests, trying to keep from moving forward.

"I guess."

Stiles nods. "Okay. So, the fire is blocking our exit. If we're getting out of here, it's not via the door." 

Parrish huffs out a laugh. "Stiles, you've teleported twice now."

Stiles had purposely not been thinking about that. That was far too much pressure for him to handle right now. He was starting to feel dizzy. 

"This is more complicated than I thought." Parrish mutters, "I don't think I'm going to have enough time to diffuse the bomb. If the fire gets any closer the heat it going to set it off. I don't even know how long this thing has left before it detonates automatically."

Stiles blanches. "That means -"

"We need to get as far away -"

"No! No way!" Stiles exclaims, moving towards Parrish. 

"Stiles, this is just a house. It's not worth our lives."

"I'm not saying it is." Stiles argues. "But we don't know if Harris was telling the truth. What is this thing is more powerful than he said it was? There are cabins nearby. _People_. What if the radius ends up being bigger than even they thought?" 

"I guess we'll find out." Parrish answers, as he moves to stand. 

"No."

"Stiles, if I keep messing around with this thing. It might go off." Parrish replies, before he sighs. "We need to go. And now."

"But -" Stiles looks over towards the wolfsbane. "What about that? How ..."

"Stiles, breathe."

The young man hadn't even known that he was starting to hyperventilate. 

Suddenly, Parrish sighs, and nods his head. "Okay. New plan. Maybe if you help me, I can get this thing unarmed before it's too late. But if I say we need to leave, then we _leave_. No arguments."

Stiles is already nodding his head. "Okay. What do you need me to do?"

"See these wires? The ones in the centre?" Stiles nods, moving forward. "I need to cut the black one, the thick one? I need to cut that at the same time as the red one."

"And that's it?"

Parrish huffs out a sarcastic laugh, "No."

"This is complicated." Stiles mutters, as he crouches down next to Parrish. He winces, and hopes the man didn't notice. 

"Movies make it seem simple."

Stiles holds the wires Parrish tells him to hold, but after a few minutes, even Stiles is ready to admit that they don't have enough time. Parrish was being slow and cautious, whereas Stiles was tempted just to reach into the mass of wires and pull.

Stiles reaches up to rub some sweat from his forehead, and it takes him a few seconds to figure out why he was so hot.

The fire. 

They were running out of time.

Stiles suddenly sighs, and stands up. "Okay, okay new idea. We move it."

"You're hurt." Parrish argues, gesturing to Stiles' arm. "We won't be able to -"

"No, I mean I ... dunno send it? Like I do with you?"

Parrish blinks, seemingly intrigued. "Would that work? Could you do that?"

"I don't know! I've never tried!"

Parrish just nods. "There's the dump, about three miles East from here. You know it?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah, I know it."

"Your Dad would be able to come up with some sort of excuse if you get it there. The blast wouldn't hurt anyone."

"So, I just have to magically transport the bomb before it explodes?"

Parrish winces, and Stiles takes that as a resounding yes. 

With a sigh, Stiles moves forward, and places his hand on the bomb.

He thinks about Harris.

He thinks about moving the bomb. 

He thinks about Marin.

He thinks about moving the bomb. 

He thinks about Laura, and all the Hales he's never going to meet.

He thinks about moving the bomb. 

He'd have like Laura.

He hoped Laura would have liked him.

"Stiles! You did it! It's gone."

Stiles opens his eyes.

"OH HELL YES!" The man punches the air, and immediately regrets it. "Oh fuck! Oh, my arm ..."

"You okay?" Stiles nods, but he know's his face is a grimace. "We should have done that earlier." Parrish jests, before laughing.

Stiles turns to the man, about to offer him a high five, when something crashes upstairs. Both men turn to look, as some wooden floorboards crack, and fall into the basement. 

And just like that, Stiles' good mood is gone.

"Okay, time to go." 

"I'll take -"

"No." Stiles argues, already reaching down to grab the wolfsbane. "I'm not going to risk this setting on fire. You go. I'll be right behind you."

Stiles doesn't wait to hear the man's response. He just closes his eyes, clutching the wolfsbane close to his chest.  

He hears Parrish mutter something, but Stiles drowns it out. He concentrates, as he had done in Derek's loft, trying to imagine himself stood outside the Hale House.  

He doesn't know if Parrish has made it outside, but he doesn't give himself time to think about that for too long.

He winces as another crash sounds, but this time, it sounds like it's far away.

"Hey. Stiles? You okay ..."

Stiles opens his eyes, just as Parrish reaches out and puts a hand on the young mans shoulders. Stiles takes a deep breath of clean air, before dropping the wolfsbane at his feet. 

He did it. 

"You know anything about putting out fires?" Stiles questions, before he lets out a sob of relief. 

Parrish just shakes his head, before pulling the young man into a hug. "Is this what it's always like here?"

Stiles nods as he pulls out of the embrace. He turns to look at the burning house with a sigh. "Yeah. Pretty much."

* * *

Stiles hands Parrish his plaid shirt, and the man ties it around his waist, murmuring a thanks. Stiles sinks to the floor of the Preserve, not caring that it was raining again, or the fact that he no doubt looked like a mess.

The fire had settled down into being not much more than a few burning embers and smoke, and Stiles let's out a sigh of relief. The rain had put an end to the fire before it could reach the upstairs. There was still going to be a Hale house, albeit a very blackened Hale house. 

Suddenly Stiles hears a howl, and that's all the warning he gets before Scott skids into a halt in front of him. The young Alpha waits no more than half a second, his face shifting through a million different expressions, before finally settling on relief. He falls to the ground with a sob, and all but falls down onto Stiles, wrapping his arms around the young mans neck.

Stiles returns the hug for a few seconds, before his friend knocks his arm. 

"Ow! Shit! Scott ..."

"Oh god, oh god." Scott exclaims, speaking far too quickly. "I'm sorry."

Scott leans back, crouching in front of his friend. He gently places a hand on Stiles' wrist, and the young man watches with wide eyes as black lines begin grow up his friends arm. He feels warmer, and the pain in his arm lessens instantly. Stiles raises an eyebrow. "What -"

"Taking some of the pain away." Scott answers, his eyes wide, and his face oddly pale. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"It's a long story." Parrish answers, and Scott turns back to glare at the man.

He growls, and Stiles just reaches out with his good arm to swat Scott on the arm. "Hey. He's a good guy."

"Sorry." Scott mutters, before turning back to Stiles. "My instincts are kinda going crazy right now."

Stiles nods, about to ask Scott where he'd come from, when he hears another howl. This one even louder.

"That's the rest of the pack." Scott answers, letting go of Stiles' arm, and standing up.

Stiles holds out his good arm. "Hey, help me up?"

Scott does, just as everyone else emerges.

Most of the pack immediately look over to the house, but Derek's eyes are glued on Stiles. He runs forward, and Scott very casually steps over to Parrish. 

"Hey..."

"God, Stiles." Derek pulls Stiles into a hug, and must sense the young man's wince. He pulls back with a frown. "Are you alright?"

Stiles smiles, but he's sure it's more like a grimace. "Peachy."

"You're hurt." Derek replies, looking down towards Stiles' arm, and then to his head. "You're bleeding."

"I was in a small car accident." Stiles tries to jest, but Derek doesn't look like he finds it funny. "It's just my arm. I think it's broken or something." The young man continues, before he sways slightly.

He wasn't feeling so good. 

"Sit down before you fall down." Derek grumbles, before helping to lower Stiles onto the Preserve floor.

Stiles watches as Peter and the others approach the house slowly, before the eldest Hale reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his phone. Stiles wonders who he is calling. 

"I'm really sorry, Der. The house -"

"Is it just your arm?" Derek questions, running a hand gently over the young man's shoulder. "It looks bad."

"It's okay." Stiles replies, frowning at the interruption. "I think it's just a minor break or something. I can still feel it."

Derek nods, before finally looking over towards the house. Stiles watches closely as the Alpha takes in the smoke, and the dim glow from the living room window. His eyes flash red, and Stiles swears he hears the man whimper.

"Derek, I'm sorry -"

"Stop." Derek growls, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It's just a house. You're more important."

Stiles opens his mouth, and then closes it. He really doesn't know what to say to that. He looks over to Parrish with a frown. "Where's Harris? You took him somewhere?"

"I took him to the police station." Parrish answers, and Stiles frowns, confused.

He'd only be gone a few seconds? 

"You -"

"I may have 'teleported' him and then came back." Parrish answers, with a knowing smile.

Stiles shakes his head, stunned. "You went to the station, naked?"

Parrish laughs, but Derek just looks at Stiles likes he's an idiot. "That's what you're worried about. The fact that he was naked?"

"Not the fact that he just teleported somewhere?" Peter adds, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles hadn't even noticed everyone had moved to stand around him

He gives everyone a quick smile, before Derek sinks into a crouch in front of him. "Everyone, give him some room. And someone get Parrish some clothes."

Everyone disperses, except Deaton. The man moves forward, frowning at Stiles' arm, but the young man tries to ignore him as he gets closer. He knew that look. That was the 'I'm gonna prod and pull around your arm to find out what's wrong with it' look. 

"Hey, I've been teleporting back and forth for like, two days now." Stiles answers, smirking. "C'mon man. Keep up."

Deaton gently pulls Stiles' hand away from where he had been grasping his injured arm, and the young man winces. Derek's eyes flash red, but Deaton completely ignores the Alpha as he crouches closely behind him, watching. 

"Is Marin..."

Stiles can't even finish his question.

"She's alive. But let's worry about you right now." Deaton answers, with a small smile.

Marin was alive. Stiles was going to accept that as an answer, and stop worrying, for now at least.

He turns back to Derek, tearing his gaze away from the house. "I'm so sorry."

Derek frowns at that. "What the hell are you sorry for?"

"The house." Stiles explains, wincing as Deaton attempts to straighten his arm. "It's -"

"You're fine, that's what matters." Derek replies, his voice low and even. "It's just a house, Stiles. We can rebuild it."

Stiles tries to smile at that, but thinks it comes out as more of a grimace. "You're okay with that?"

Derek smiles himself then. "We weren't happy with some of it. This will give us a chance to make it perfect. Maybe we'll move it a little though." Derek adds, a knowing look in his eye. "I'm thinking that particular plot is -"

"Cursed?" Stiles supplies, and Deaton shakes his head, unamused.

"I was going to say unlucky, but knowing us, it probably is cursed."

"It's not cursed." Deaton says, his voice serious. He gently let's go of Stiles' arm, before looking up at the young man with a serious expression. "You have a fracture."

"Great." Stiles drawls, with a grimace. 

"I'll make you a sling. Keep it as still as possible, and try not to bump it into anything. It should heal soon enough."

Stiles and Derek both frown at that.

"No hospital? Or cast?"

Deaton laughs lightly. "No, Stiles. I don't think that will be necessary. Not with your, talents shall we say?"

"You mean my ability to teleport."

Derek rolls his eyes. "It's not teleporting."

"Then what is it, Sourwolf?" Stiles challenges, smirking. Deaton smiles himself, as he begins to fashion Stiles a sling out of a piece of fabric. Stiles wonders if it's someone's shirt.

"I don't know." The Alpha answers honestly. "But I half expected you to say 'beam me up' before you vanished."

Stiles doesn't think he's ever smiled so wide.

"I'm totally going to do that next time!"

"Can we please have a break from the teleporting?" Derek replies, his face a grimace. "I don't like the thought of you disappearing."

"Awww ... Derek, you care."

"Shut up." Derek grumbles, but Stiles can't stop smiling.   

Deaton calls over to someone, and Isaac runs forward, holding something in his hands. As he approaches Stiles smiles at the Beta, and gestures over to the wolfsbane.

"Isaac, say hello to our chemistry project."

Isaac frowns, confused, but Derek just growls. "That's -"

"What Harris was working on." Stiles answers, wincing once again at Deaton's ministrations. "Don't let anyone touch it."

Isaac rolls his eyes before walking away, and Stiles swears the Beta mutters something like,  _that was one time._

"When we got you out of the cabin, you weren't breathing."

Deaton freezes, and Stiles gapes. 

Stiles swears the entire pack let's out a collective breath after Derek speaks. 

Where had that come from? 

"What?"

"You were dead, Stiles." Derek continues, and he's not looking at the young man in front of him.

"That's -" Stiles turns to look at Scott, who was stood a little distance away with Erica. His head is bowed though, and Stiles know's his friend is listening. "That's impossible!"

Derek leans forward, careful not to disturb Deaton as he continues to tie Stiles' arm in a sling. "Do you remember what happened with Lydia? After Peter bit her?"

"Yeah." Stiles answers. Peter had moved over to talk to Isaac and Boyd, and was pointedly not looking at his Nephew. Derek draws Stiles' attention back to him with a sigh.

"She was technically dead. That's what happens when someone get's bitten. There's a toxin. You either change -"

"Technically it's a mutation." 

"Or," Derek continues, shooting Deaton a glare after the man interrupts him. "You die. That's how it works."

"Okay." Stiles says slowly. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Lydia didn't die, Stiles. But she mutated." Derek continues. "Not into a werewolf, because her body was already something else. She was already -"

"Wait." Stiles interjects, sitting up a little straighter. "You're saying that I died."

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to mention this before?"

Derek just grimaces. "We were going to tell you. But we didn't exactly have time."

Stiles has to give the Alpha that one. "Okay, you were saying, I technically died," Stiles can't help but wince. "and that triggered me to change? Like Lydia did?"

Derek nods, as Deaton takes a few steps back, having finished with Stiles' sling. "I told you once Stiles, about your ancestors."

"The Leshy?"

"Yes. I believe that their DNA has mutated your human DNA, as Lydia's Banshee DNA has mutated her's. When you stopped breathing -"

"He died Deaton." Derek growls, and Stiles reaches out a hand and squeezes the Alpha's leg.

"Yes. When you died, your body mutated. The dormant DNA became active. In layman's terms," Deaton adds, seeming amused at the confused expression on Stiles' face. "you died, and that triggered a change in you, much as it did with Lydia."

"Huh." Stiles says dumbly. "So that's why I'm suddenly Harry Potter?"

"Yes." Deaton answers, seemingly ignoring Stiles' joke. "You had abilities before, but not like this. You recall I've referred to you as a Spark?" Stiles nods. "I think you're now more akin to an inferno." Deaton continues with a warm smile. 

Stiles's eyes grow wide at that. "Woah. That's ... kinda awesome." 

Derek smiles and shakes his head, a fond gesture. "You should be freaking out."

Deaton begins to walk away then, but not before looking over his shoulder, giving Stiles a pointed look. Stiles thinks that was his way of agreeing with Derek. 

"Derek, are you kidding? My best friend and boyfriend are werewolves." Stiles smirks as Derek's eyes bug at the word 'boyfriend' but the young man just continues. "I'm a freaking Emissary for a supernatural band of misfits. I just kicked my Chemistry teachers ass when he tried to kill me! I'm a little bit past the point of freaking out."

Derek sighs, before standing. "You make a good point."

"Hey," The Alpha looks down at Stiles, and the young man clears his throat. "Is the boyfriend thing -"

"Haven't we already had this conversation?"

Stiles isn't blushing. 

"Erm, it was more of a 'you tolerate me' or 'we're dating' conversation. We never said the b-word." Stiles frowns then, thinking back. "Wait, did we? Oh my god, I'm a terrible person. I can't even remember." Stiles rubs a hand over his eyes, and hears Derek sigh.

"You're tired."

"Just a little." Stiles drawls, before yawning.

"C'mon. We're going back to the apartment. Your Dad is going to meet us there."

Stiles nods, and accepts Derek's hand when he helps him off the floor. "What did you tell him?"

"Not much. He was at the Station when Parrish took Harris there. He pretty much confessed to everything then and there, and your Dad figured out the rest."

Stiles nods once again, before he frowns, realising something. "Wait, Harris was talking about werewolves and magic in front of the entire station?" Derek nods, and Stiles scoffs. "Did anyone see Parrish?"

"Just your Dad." Derek answers, placing a hand on Stiles' back as they both weave around a tree stump. "Everyone else just heard Harris, they didn't see anything. They think he's a lunatic."

"He is."

Derek doesn't smile. "The Sheriff's got his confession, but I think he'll be sent to Eichen House rather than prison. He made that pretty clear when he said a naked Phoenix magically transported him into the station."

Stiles can't help but laugh at that mental image. "Poor Parrish. We need to get him some flame resistant clothing."

Derek let's out a small laugh, and Stiles relishes the sound of it. They reach the Camaro, parked near a trail, and Stiles climbs inside with a relieved sigh, enjoying the heat and comfort.

The Alpha doesn't even complain when Stiles gets blood on the leather seat. 

Derek doesn't let go of Stiles' hand the entire way to the apartment. Stiles knows he should probably argue about driving safely, but he doesn't have it in him to care, not with Derek's warm hand in his own. He feels like he deserves it. 


End file.
